HEART, LIVER AND SOUL
by PanicButton
Summary: Follow up from last fic... Spencer/omc/omc... angsty, whump Slash... They go in search of what they lost.
1. Chapter 1

HEART, LIVER AND SOUL

**Follow up from New Beginnings.**

_To live in hearts we leave behind  
>Is not to die.<br>~Thomas Campbell, "Hallowed Ground"_

* * *

><p>Pindar Institution.<p>

A squat grey old building. Once a general hospital, but now specialising in mental disorders amongst youths.

Not an unkind place… However a state run place and so money isn't so available. Care isn't so available. But damn, it's free. What do you want for nothing? What do you expect? These are the unwanted kids and teenagers. The suicide attempts. The abused… the drug addicts and whores. These are the results of years of neglect by their caregivers and unfortunately usually the neglect will continue even though these unfortunates are meant to be getting the very best care available.

Of course they're not!

One of these guests is a boy of about sixteen… maybe younger, maybe older… who knows. The lad himself surely doesn't know. He just about managed to communicate that his name was Sam and then everything cut out. He closed down. He wouldn't speak or make eye contact. The only way Sam would communicate was with screams and yelps.

He had nightmares… he would wake up clawing at his face and screaming… just a long single pitched scream.

Sam wouldn't connect with a therapist. He wouldn't connect with a social worker who was assigned to him. He was violent, somewhat incontinent… he was a bed wetter and sometimes just didn't seem to realise that he was sitting in a pool of his own urine. He never blinked. He stared ahead all the time. His eyes reacted to light, but he didn't seem to react to sound… They thought he had hearing problems. They thought he had sight difficulties. One of his eyes looked inwards towards his nose.

He twitched, scratched and pinched himself. He had problems using a knife and fork or even a spoon and would rather eat with his fingers. He didn't seem to feel hot or cold and so care was taken when he bathed or had warm drinks. He kept scalding himself, burning his mouth.

Sam comforted himself with masturbation, whereas this wasn't a forbidden act it was discouraged when he was in public places.

'Try to remember to only do that if you are in your bed.' They told him. But it seemed he kept on forgetting.

He never stood with his back to a door or window. He walked sideways if he could with his back pressed against a wall. He spat, bit, kicked and generally causes a commotion when he was asked to take medication. They wanted to stabilise his panic attacks. They wanted him to relax, but relax wasn't something Sam ever did. They monitored him closely because another thing Sam never seemed to do was sleep and this of course was impossible. Everyone had to sleep, but if Sam did, it was with his eyes open… and constantly making odd noises and twitching. Sam's _sleep_ sounds were almost a cry. A soft keening sound.

They had decided what was wrong.

Sam had been found in deep snow, mostly naked, hyperthermia crawling through his bones. Two skiers had seen him and at first thought it was a distorted lump of rock. Then they saw it stumble and move. What they found was a half dead, emaciated creature. They made a travois and dragged him back with them. Sam had somehow made his way into Canada.

Authorities checked missing persons, but nothing popped up on their screens. They waited for him to talk, but the only word he ever said was his name… and that arrived with out an accent. They had no idea where he'd come from. They could clearly see his battered and scarred body. They could see where his arm had been broken and had mended badly. They had to re-break it and try to straighten it again. They filled him with nutrients via a drip in his arm and they did every test available. Brain scans, hearing tests, blood tests. They took samples of his straggly long hair. They showed him pictures of things to try to get him to react and all Sam ever did was cry and scream. It was decided that he was likely the off spring of some one living in the back woods. It was thought that Sam had severe learning difficulties and the word _autism_ was thrown around a bit, but the real problems Sam had they had no idea of. They could see scars on his back. They suggested that he'd been tortured and maybe sexually abused, but they didn't want to cause him distress by checking on that.

Sam was horribly hard to sedate. Nothing seemed to work. Sometimes a strong dose of something in his thigh stopped him from clawing at his face, but it never lasted long. Sam seemed to drag himself down into his own empty sedated world. He didn't need the meds.

Now he was at Pindar. Most of the kids here had severe handicaps. A lot of them were in wheelchairs. Sam could walk, Sam could run… but Sam couldn't tell people what it was he was so scared of. He couldn't tell them why he couldn't look out of a window, or go into a room he'd not been in before.

Sam knew that Floyd was gone. He could feel that terrible empty place inside of him. It was like what small spark of spirit he'd owned had been blown away… ripped out. That miniscule bit of soul he'd been nurturing and holding close and tight and loving and keeping secret… that was gone too… Sam was empty of all emotion other than fear. He knew Iolanda was out there somewhere and he knew that the man was coming after him. He could hear him calling his name in the wind. He could see his face reflecting back at him in windows, on water… he could see his horrible face in the pattern on the floor tiles. He could hear him… 'I'm going to get you boy… you can't hide from me. I ate your father and I'm going to eat his dirty spawn… I'm on my way dog… can't hide from me… I'm going to kill… kill, kill, kill you like I killed Flanders.' And this was the constant Sam now had… the same message as though played on a loop… over and over again… never stopping. The only thing that shielded Sam's ears from the onslaught was screaming.

o-o-o

Initially Spencer returned to the small house with the wrap around porch. Rossi took him home after he'd been in hospital for a few days to check over his physical state, which though he was battered, bruised, malnourished and depressed, there wasn't anything major going on. At least not on the surface. They sent him away with a list of things to eat and some ointment to put on the few open wounds he still had and told him that he should stay with friends for a while.

Spencer laughed at them inwardly but nodded an understanding nod outwardly. Rossi asked Spencer if he wanted to come and stay with him for a while and Spencer turned down the offer. 'I'm OK.' But Rossi knew that he couldn't possibly be _OK_ and more so, if he _was_ then there was something seriously wrong.

'You know where I am if you need me.' Dave told Spencer as they both stood in Reid's lounge and Spencer said that he was very grateful for everything and he sat in his tatty leather chair and stared at the wall.

The following day he drank coffee and then made arrangements to have all of his things taken back to his apartment in the city. He couldn't live here alone. Not here where Floyd had thought they would have a lovely life as a family. A family which didn't exist any longer. Sam had run off that day and into the night and had never been seen again… And so today, three months later, Spencer was in his apartment sitting in his tatty chair trying to think of an excuse not to go out for a drink tonight with Dave.

The man was forever asking Spencer out for a drink. Dave was worried about him, that was obvious, but Spencer wasn't ready.

Spencer wasn't ready to talk to a counsellor or a therapist. Spencer wasn't ready to show talk about his grief and his guilt and his loneliness. He wasn't ready to talk about his plans to end his life and go to what ever dark hole Floyd had ended up in. What he did do every day was walk down to the small cemetery. They'd collected up enough bones to be able to bury something. They'd got there before the head had been removed… small mercy. At least they had a head and some chewed up bones. At least there were a few lumps of soft torn bits to enclose in the casket. Cremation had been suggested, but Spencer had insisted that burial was the only thing which was acceptable. And so every day Spencer went to the cemetery and he sat with his back to the head stone and with a book on his lap and he read… he read poetry and novels and biographies and he described pictures, read news papers and each time there he would leave something. Sometimes he'd leave a sprinkling of herbs… sometimes a small dram of whiskey… or he'd pour out some rose scented water, or maybe just a few tears… He never left flowers. He never left trinkets. One day he found that someone had been there and had laid some roses. It shouldn't have bothered him. He should have been happy that someone else remembered Floyd, but it enraged Spencer. He pulled the roses apart. He tore each petal from the long straight stems and let them be blown away in the wind. Another time someone had placed a white opalescent stone on the top of the head stone. Spencer stood for a while and wondered who would have done that. The only name he came up with was Emily. He didn't know if he was right, but he snatched it from the black of the head stone and threw it as far as he could. He wiped with the cuff of his sleeve over the top of the head stone, trying to get rid of any taint she might have left. Oh yes Emily might have thought she had something special going with Floyd, but was she there that day? Did she see? Did she have any idea? NO! And Spencer wasn't going to accept her sympathy. He wasn't going to accept it from anyone but Rossi and that was still hard to stomach.

Reid wanted to know why Rossi had let Floyd go in that damned place alone. He wanted to know why back up took so long. He wanted to know why Rossi was sitting warm and dry and comfortable in his car whilst Floyd was being torn apart by dogs! He wanted to know why! Why was it allowed to happen! Why did it take them so long to find them? And where is Sam? Why are they not looking for Sam? Why are they saying that this is all now up to the courts to decide. Where the hell… where the living hell did Iolanda go? Why wasn't he arrested? Why isn't he on death row? Why do they only have five people in custody? Why is it all taking so long…?

Today he was reading William Blake… '_The weeping child could not be heard,  
>The weeping parents wept in vain:<br>They stripped him to his little shirt,  
>And bound him in an iron chain,'<em>

Spencer sat on a red and black blanket and he lit some candles and he was there until it was almost but not quite dark. Nothing could get Spencer out after dark… nothing.

And so tonight he sat in his chair and he'd unplugged the phone and he'd sat there with the coffee mug balanced on his knee and his eyes red and puffy and he picked at some new sores and scabs on his inner arm between his wrist and his elbow and when he'd finished there he rubbed at his toes and he frowned at the small marks and swore that he'd stop being self destructive… at least until he could score again…

Grief does terrible things to a person's spirit and soul. Spencer was of the opinion that the grief was more destructive than the drugs. The drugs could help him go somewhere else for a while. It could wipe away that tearing ripping feeling in your chest and replace it with soft memories of lovely times. It could take you from the hard spite filled anger to a walk in the forest holding the hand of the man you loved. It could take you from wanting to step out in front of a train to remembering that time in the shower, or in the tub… or talking quietly with the bed covers wrapped around you… it could take you to laying in front of an open fire with a pile of books… reading to each other… It never seemed to take Spencer to the times he was being beaten and abused. It didn't take him to being nailed to a floor or a table or chained to a radiator… he was never rushed away to have someone spitting angry obscene words in his face. He was never taken to be dragged by his hair across the floor… but he did have the orgasmic pleasure of remembering being held by his throat against a wall… He came around from his swirling dreams that time with a howl… and he had to go and change his clothes.

He called Dave.

'I'm sorry… I can't make it. Headache.' It was the excuse he usually made. 'I was wondering if there was any news on Sam?'

There was no news on Sam. He'd run off never to be seen again. 'Are you sure that he got out?' Though Rossi knew he was sure.

'I watched him. I distracted Iolanda so that he could have more time.' And a sigh. 'I remember it.' But maybe he didn't feel so sure about it any more. Maybe it was part of the muddled dreams he was having.

'When he turns up, I'll let you know.'

They'd stopped looking for him? 'You've stopped looking?'

'There's no sign of him, Spencer. The snow… the weather…'

'You think he's dead.' Spencer said slowly.

Rossi sighed. He'd rather talk to Spencer to his face, but that was a pleasure which was becoming harder and harder to get. 'There are a few reasons why Sam might not have turned up. We have to consider them all. Maybe he's hiding somewhere. Maybe he had an accident… maybe he…' Rossi stopped and Spencer could hear him pacing. 'It's not that we don't care, but we've run out of places to look.'

Spencer put the phone down. He didn't want to hear that! It was just not right. They couldn't just stop looking for him! It was insanity. Spencer also paced for a while. He kicked at the small wooden coffee table… he punched at a wall and he left the apartment with a slam of the door, running down the stairs two at a time and getting the train to a dark corner of the world where he could make this damned life go away and the good one come back again… if only for a minute or two…

And he knew that it wasn't real… but make believe was better than this empty reality.

o-o-o

He crouched on the steps and waited. He waited so long that he thought he might have turned into stone… or maybe just a blob of a great nothingness. Floyd was miserable beyond what misery could be classed as. He was pissed off. He was sulking. He wanted to know what was going to happen. Why was he here? Iolanda ripped his heart and liver out; he felt it leaving him. He felt the bastard rip his life away. He saw him through his foggy dark red glowing eyes, walk away with parts of him.

'Ah…' Floyd had cramp again. He wriggled and sat back on his butt and massaged the muscles in the back of his legs and the bottom of his feet and his toes… nine of them. He had a toe missing. Someone took it. Someone took it and put it in their pocket. A souvenir. That person dried it out and punched a hole through it and hung it around their neck like a talisman. It was his little toe from his left foot. Floyd ran his fingers over the lumpy scar and ground his teeth and swore sweet curses under his breath.

His lovely marquee tent was gone. There was a smudge left on the floor. Nothing else. His home in Hades was deleted.

'Because you are dead.' That's what the voices had told him.

'But if I'm dead, why am I here?' He wanted to know. Because really he shouldn't be here. Either he should be with The Old Woman or he should just have stopped existing and this was a puzzle. Why was he here even though Iolanda had eaten his soul.

'We will come back to you on that one.'

There was only one reason. At least only one reason Floyd could think of and that was that Iolanda _hadn't_ eaten part of him. He'd taken it away but never got as far as chowing down on him. In which case his heart and liver were somewhere else.

'Can I go back? Can I look after Spencer?'

There was an invisible shrug, but Floyd felt it. Indecision. They didn't know what to do. They had to consider it.

'But he needs me.'

And the voices told him that if he went back as he was he'd not be the same person. Yes he'd look like the same person and he'd have the memories and Spencer would know him, but with no soul and spirit… well… he really would be just a monster.

'I'm happy for that!' Floyd bounced to his feet. He jiggled from foot to foot… a junky dance. Oh this was it! He needed his fix… he was addicted to that damned Spencer and couldn't or wouldn't carry on without him. 'I'll go to hell with him… but without him, I'm stuck here.'

'Bullshit.' Floyd was told. 'You're just a greedy bastard who wants his pretty treasures.'

Floyd had to agree with that. 'Ah… that too.' He told them… giving some leeway in case he changed his mind.

'Find Sam… he's roaming. Find him then you can have Spencer.'

Oh but that's unfair. 'No! It will be so much better if Spencer and I search for Sam together. Where is Sam anyway? Why is he missing? What happened to him? Why don't you know where he is? Why are you sending me to find him? Where the fuck is Iolanda? I need the chance to…'

'Shut the fuck up, Flanders. You're like an over excited child. Go and rest while we think about this. It's not normal.'

'But you love me! You want to make me happy.' Floyd told them… his excitement was very obvious now.

'Go and relieve yourself… dirty animal. Not here! Get out and do that.'

'You wont forget me? I only had a decade to be with him…. Just ten short wondrous years… I can't afford to waste any sitting around with my hand on my dick. I need to get down there and mend my boy and find Sam… does he need mending?'

'Everything that goes near you needs mending - but you amuse us. Go away… we can't think with you standing there waving your manhood at us.'

Floyd clicked his heels and did a bow. He got down on one knee and he placed a hand on the floor and he then stood up and did a small salute.

'Stop taking the piss and go away.' Now it was just the one voice… and he could hear the wings above him… and he could feel the down draft those wings were making.

'And what about my heart? What about what Iolanda took? Where are they?'

But the lights were out now and Floyd had nothing left to talk to. There was still that excitement though. The thought of going home and finding his Spencer all vulnerable and unhappy and he'd make everything wonderful. He'd do whatever it was that Spencer wanted to be happy. He just wanted to hear Spencer's laugh… see his smiling face… the blood, the screams, the wriggling LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER!

He ran away… 'He ran away and let me be eaten by the dogs. You know if that had been the other way around I would have stood there with him. I would have gone down with him. I would. You know that. Because that's what I did, but Spencer… no… Not Spencer! Spencer ran… like Sam… they both fucking ran away crying and blubbing and left me to be eaten by the fucking dogs. Now who am I more mad with… I think it's about equal. The fucks. All of them. The damned fuckers. I give everything for them. What do I get back? Sod all.'

* * *

><p><em>Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality. ~Emily Dickinson<em>


	2. Chapter 2

2

Spencer awoke with a start.

'You can't sleep there son.' A kind but uncompromising voice.

Spencer looked up at a weather beaten face of a cop walking his morning beat. He could see the backdrop was bushes and sky. Spencer had no idea where he was. He rubbed at his eyes and pushed up onto one elbow. He was laying on a wooden slatted bench in a park. It was daylight, but only just. There was a layer of frost still on the grass making everything look ghostly. Spencer coughed, put his feet on the ground and rummaged in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep.'

The cop nodded. This guy didn't look like he'd gone too far yet. Maybe there was hope for this one. He at least still seemed to have all of his own teeth. He sat on the bench next to Spencer and thought about this. Some homeless guys were happy to take advice and others got hostile. You had to try to judge it. But now he was sitting there next to the bum, he thought maybe that things were different here. 'You know, if you can get dry and clean there's a really nice hostel down on North Avenue. They wont take you if you don't want to try though.'

Spencer blinked at the cop and tried a smile. He then took in a lung full of smoke and blew it out of his nose. He'd been smoking a lot lately. He'd stop when the time was right. The time wasn't right yet, and if he looked at this honestly he'd know that if things stayed like they were that the time would never be right. 'I have an apartment.' Spencer told the cop. 'I don't know why I'm here.' Though he did. He got high and fell asleep on the bench. Why he'd done it here and not in the safety of his own home he wasn't sure. There must have been a reason at the time.

'Then you need to get your butt home. People will be missing you.'

'There's no one left.' Spencer spoke quietly. 'They're all dead. There's no one left.' Maybe that was the most Spencer had talked about it to anyone so far. 'I should go home and have a shower.' Spencer went to stand, but the cop put a hand on his arm and kept him sitting for a while longer.

'And maybe eat something. If you're going to spend your nights walking around the parks… Son, these places at night…'

Spencer gave his a wry smile. He remembered now why he was here and maybe a tiny bit of guilt slipped through. 'Thank you officer.' Spencer again tried to stand and again the cop kept him sitting.

'Drugs and sex don't make the pain go away.'

Spencer now turned again to look at the cop. What would he know? 'Have you ever lost someone you love? I don't mean someone you suffer or someone you know, but someone that you don't think you can live without? Someone you _know_ you can't live without. Have you ever had that feeling that you are falling and falling so fast that you can't grab anything to hold onto and if you do it will shatter you and break you more than you already are? I wonder… have you ever felt that death and oblivion is better than being without that person you exist for?'

The cop shook his head slowly. 'I've lost my parents… Not the same? A wife? Girlfriend?'

'Boyfriend, husband, lover, wife… everything… he was everything.'

'Son…'

This time Spencer managed to break away from the cop. Spencer had fat hot tears crawling down his face, his eyes stung, his feet hurt, his head pounded… 'I'm not your son.' Spencer snapped at him. 'I belong to no one.' He spun and limped away. He'd been laying funny and the feeling was still coming back into his right foot… hot and painful, pins and needles spiked and clawed at his foot and it felt good. It felt good because Spencer was feeling something other than emptiness. He could feel pain and this was good.

Rossi called in the afternoon. Spencer was sitting twitching and grinding his teeth and picking at his arms when the buzzer for the door went. He lazily got up and bounced off the walls as he walked slowly to the door. It was someone at the main doors downstairs. It could be anyone. It could really be any one! A shaking finger with bitten fingernails pressed his end of the intercom.

'Hello?' Just that one word was shot through with nervousness and fear.

'Spencer…' It was Rossi. What the hell did he want now? Wasn't it good enough that he called on the phone? Spencer glanced back down the hallway to the lounge and looked at the wire he'd dragged out of the wall with such force that he'd broken the small plug.

'I'll buzz you in.' Spencer sighed. There really was no getting away from this. He was going to have to face Rossi and if he got mad with him, well then he'd just have to get mad with him. He pressed the button to open the doors downstairs and unlocked and pulled open his apartment door… then he slammed it again. God! What was he _thinking_? Anyone could walk in! He snapped the locks back into place but and walked to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Spencer always offered coffee. He didn't know what else to do… He could hardly offer to shower with Rossi or give him a rub down and he didn't fancy reading to him either. What else was there but coffee? Spencer now ran to the bedroom and pulled the sweaty shirt off he had on and replaced it with a slightly crumpled white shirt with short sleeves. This was a purposeful act. He wanted to be able to show Rossi without him having to ask… He wanted to prove that he had clean arms… apart from the small cuts and the bruises from pinching and the redness from scratching… there were no track marks. Those… they were hidden under his socks and under his pants. They were in places Rossi was never going to see.

The tap, tap, tap on the door. Rossi knocked gently. He knocked with his knuckles.

Things started out well. Spencer managed to pour coffee into the mugs and not all over the counter. He didn't hand Rossi his mug, but pushed it over the counter towards him. It meant that he didn't have to show just how badly his hands were shaking today. His own mug he'd only half filled. Less chance of spillage. Spencer folded himself up into his chair and Rossi sat on the couch and they said nothing. They sipped on coffee and Spencer glared at the coasters, hoping that Dave would take the hint. Dave was a coaster sort of guy anyway… a sigh of relief escaped from Spencer's mouth though. He couldn't help it.

'I'm here as a friend.' Dave suddenly said. That meant that he didn't want Spencer asking questions about the investigation into what went on at the compound.

'I thought, I thought I'd be asked… asked as a witness.'

There was a very slight nod from Dave and the word _unreliable_ was used. Spencer blinked and now he placed his mug down on a coaster too. 'Don't get upset.' Rossi spoke softly. 'It was decided that your emotional state wouldn't allow for the cross examination which…'

'You think I'd break down in the witness box? You think that I'm not capable?' Spencer was fuming but also relieved. It was right. He'd end up a shaking, howling, crying mess and be no help to anyone. 'Fine.' He snapped at his only friend and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. 'I suppose that I'm not allowed to ask if there is any news on Sam?'

Dave had his sad face on and it made Spencer's stomach tie in knots. He felt bile crawling up into his mouth. 'No news. Spencer I've explained this. They searched the compound…'

'He wasn't in the damned compound!' Spencer shouted. 'How many times do I have to say that?'

Rossi gave his nod again. 'Let me finish. He wasn't in the compound and there was no sign of him in the surrounding area. The woods were searched, with dogs… the weather…'

Spencer wanted to be alone. He wanted to be alone in the bathroom with the little silver knife he'd bought from a shop down the road. 'That boy had no one. All he had was Floyd and then me… and I've asked you, I've begged you to look for him…'

'And we have.'

'I am responsible for him! Floyd will… he will… He will want to know why I've not been searching for him. I'll go myself.'

Dave wriggled along the couch a bit, so that he was closer to Spencer. 'Reid… I didn't want to have to say this – if Sam went North then there is no hope of finding him. The weather is just too harsh. He couldn't have survived that. If he has, then he's hiding somewhere. It's not likely but it's not impossible. We will have to wait for the snow to go… If he went south he would have been picked up by now. Any other direction. If he'd stayed on the roads he would have been picked up. You know that. You also know that he would have made for the woods.' Rossi now paused. 'As for Floyd… Spencer…'

'Shut up!' Reid bounced to his feet catching his shin on the edge of the table. It hurt. It felt so damned good! 'Get out. Just get out of here. You don't understand. I thought maybe that you did, but you don't.'

Dave stayed sitting. 'Have you talked to anyone yet? A professional?'

'I don't need to see anyone.' Spencer hissed. 'I know what's going on… the only people I could rely on are either dead or ignoring me. That's what's going on. Great. Thank you Dave. Can you see yourself out?' He watched Rossi stand and then took a step forwards and snapped out… 'And when you've some free time find Iolanda, because he's out there and as you've given up on Sam you might do well to look into where the heck Iolanda slipped off to.'

Dave stepped back from the angry Spencer. He'd not seen him like this often, but now Rossi could see Spencer's hurt, pain and rage boiling on the surface. It was there visibly making Spencer shake as he tried to hold it back. 'Iolanda is being looked for. Don't worry.'

And Reid let out a howl of a laugh. 'Don't worry? Don't _worry?_ He is going to kill me. He will hunt me down and tear me apart the same as he did Floyd. He will rip apart… and I know he will. I know! He's out there watching and waiting and if he doesn't want you to see him then you wont. And you tell me not to worry. What am I meant to do? What am I meant to do when I get calls and there's no one on the end of the line? What am I meant to do when I hear that scratching… _scratching_! Scratching on my door… On my door.' Spencer pointed at his door in case Rossi didn't understand. 'The scratching and pulsating thing! The thing in my head!' Spencer was now shouting and Dave was stepping back towards the door. 'You have no idea!' The coffee mug was now hurled in Rossi's direction. 'You have no… you can't even… you wont! I can't…' The second mug was throw, this time at the wall. 'Get out! Get the hell out! I don't want you here with your excuses! I have to find Sam. I have to make this right… if not for Floyd then for me and for Sam. He's out there… and you wrap up in your woollen winter overcoat and you smoke… you smoke your… your cigars… and you party! You… you were… I thought you understood!'

Dave thought he understood too, but this display was showing him that he likely had no clue. He thought Spencer would recover, but this… this was not recovery, this was someone who needed help before he did something stupid.

'I'm trying to understand. Calm down and talk to me.' But his hand was now on the door. He was ready to get the hell out of this stuffy oppressive apartment and leave the banshee to himself. 'I can get you help.' He offered.

'I don't want help!' Spencer glanced around for something else to throw and hurled a book (gently) at the couch. Even in his rage he didn't want to damage a book. 'I want you to understand that there is a man out there watching me and waiting for me.'

'You want protection? You've seen him?'

It was more than Spencer could take. 'I need Floyd! You let him down! You let him die!' And if Rossi hadn't escaped out of the door right that second he would have been physically attacked. As it was the door slammed and Spencer stood at it kicking it and punching at it until that red rage ebbed. 'Why don't they understand?' He spoke into the gloom of his apartment. 'Just one person, that's all it would take.' And he thought of Emily and then dismissed it as quickly as he thought of it. 'Maybe Hotch?' He thought. Yes… Hotch… he would understand. Tomorrow he'd pay a visit. He'd not paid him a friendly visit since he lost Jack, maybe now was the time. Maybe in his pain Hotch would understand. Spencer decided to sleep on it. He would sleep with the help of the pills the doctor gave him. With the pills he had no nightmares – no dreams… not even a good sleep but it was better than nothing.

o-o-o

Sam sat in a room full of people. He was sedated – heavily – and miserable – a lot – he didn't like this room. Too many windows. The placement of the table was all wrong. He had to sit with his back to one of the windows. He wanted to move his chair so he was sitting side on to the table and had a window each side, but his chair was moved back to face the table again. Sam fixed his eyes on the window he was facing and tried to watch for reflections of one window in the other. Watching for faces which shouldn't be there.

There was a case worker, who was acting on Sam's behalf for now. There was a doctor who had assessed Sam's problems. There was a social worker who had never met Sam before but had started to read the file and thought that was enough. There was a member of staff from Pindar to give a run down of a typical day for Sam and there was a woman who was going to either laugh and walk from the room or give Sam a chance at a small unit a few hundred miles away. A much smaller facility with only three other boys there. Sam would be the oldest. There would be a lot of supervision. He'd be schooled and fed and watered like all good boys are.

They talked about Sam's communication problems. They said that his case was unusual but not unheard of. Maybe it was a bad case of PTSD. They talked about how Sam was so closed down that he didn't seem to know where he was or even who he was. He didn't seem to respond to any stimuli and would just sit and starve if he wasn't given food to eat. Yes he could eat… but despite all efforts he was still using his fingers. He needed somewhere smaller. Somewhere with people who could provide for him the constant support he needed. They'd given him the last name of _Snow_ as it was in the snow he'd been found and he'd not told them yet anything but his first name and now they were doubting that was what he'd said anyway. Maybe it had just been a babble of noise? Maybe he was trying to say that was where he'd come from? They didn't know. It didn't matter. He rarely responded to his name anyway…

And at this point Sam got up from his chair and walked from the room.

'He does that sometimes.' His case worker pointed out.

'Should I go and get him back here again?' The social worker asked using the sort of voice which meant that she'd rather not have to bother… Thank You Very Much.

'It's not like he can contribute.' The case worker added.

'Have you ever asked him to contribute?' This was Dr Moyse from the small unit and all heads turned to look at him. Ask Sam something? Ask for his opinion on something? This man obviously didn't understand what was going on here. 'It seems that Sam has made his feelings clear by walking from the room.' The doctor carried on. 'What is his obsession with windows?' He then asked. 'There's nothing in the notes to indicate that he has a problem with them.'

The case worked pursed her lips. 'He's scared of everything. There's not room on the form to write it all down.'

'Then maybe you need to get a new form?' This Doctor was angry. He was seething with anger. These places just didn't help with youths like Sam. They couldn't be bothered with them. They thought that if you reached that age and you still refused to eat with a knife and fork that there was no hope for you. They let them drift through the system and out the other end and with a sigh of relief they would hand them over to an adult facility. There were too many young people like Sam being ignored and left to rot. Dr Moyse wished he could take more to his small place. He wished the could help more young boys to open up. 'I'll take him.' He said.

'But you've not really…'

The doctor stood. 'I've seen enough to make up my mind. I'll make arrangements to have him moved.'

That was the end of the meeting. Doctor Moyse would get Sam to talk. He would get him to open up. He would find out why he was so scared of everything… Oh yes he would. Doctor Moyse was quite an expert when it came to boys like Sam. The silent ones… They ones who had suffered abuse… The ones who couldn't complain.

Sam was moved from Pindar the following day. He was fine until he realised that he was going to be outside in a car and then the panic set in. The staff stood back and avoided his teeth and hands which were reaching out to scratch and slap and punch at anything which came close. Doctor Moyse wanted to know why the lad hadn't been sedated.

'He has been. He shouldn't be able to walk let alone put on a performance like this.' The staff told him. 'He's very hard to sedate.'

Moyse frowned and had Sam restrained. They wrapped a blanket around his skinny flailing screaming body and carried him to the car where they strapped him down with the seat restraints. Sam carried on screaming, kicking… spitting… He spat globules of gob onto the face of the poor woman trying to calm him down… and then he projectile vomited; it hit the ceiling in the big SUV and dripped back down into Sam's face. He snotted and sneezed and then he spat blood.

A needle eventually stabbed into the side of his leg and Sam slowly stopped his struggle. It didn't stop his fear though. Now he was laying there limp and wet and smelling of urine and puke and his eyes flickered from side to side and his hands were clenched into fists. He knew that Iolanda was out there. He could feel him. He could smell him. He could almost taste the man. He could feel his eyes watching him. Iolanda was waiting and planning and plotting and he would get Sam when his defences were down. Sam never let his defences down. Never. He couldn't afford to do that, but now all he could do was lay there in his own smells and listen to the car door close and then feel the rumble of the car setting off on another journey… one in which Sam was exposed… one where Iolanda could just walk over and rip him from the safety of the back seat and hurt him – put things in him – make him do things he didn't want to do – treat him like an animal and then gut him, open him up and pull out his insides and hold them up for him to see. Sam knew that. It was just a matter of time… Just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sam opened his mouth and tried to communicate his fear. He opened his mouth and let out a long piercing scream and already Dr Moyse was thinking that there was no helping this lad… he'd made a snap judgement. This boy needed a padded cell.

It was at times like this that Dr Moyse thought that euthanasia was a good thing; something which should be allowed. He'd not even arrived at Woody Pines (his little hospital for the impossibly insane) and he'd already decided that for Sam there was no hope.

Sam's new bedroom was green. There were green curtains… a green carpet and the walls were pale green. The cover on his bed was striped apple green and a buttery yellow. There was a cupboard to place his few belongings in and a small bathroom with a wash basin, toilet and shower. No tub. Sam was still feeling floppy and tired as he stood in his doorway and inspected his new surroundings. The doctor stood behind him trying to show patience and respect to the new boy. He watched as for the first time Sam actually seemed to become aware of what was going on. Sam walked to the window and made sure it was locked. He pulled the curtains closed and tucked the ends into the back of the radiator. He walked to the bathroom and looked around. There was no window but there was a vent on the wall. Sam gave it a long look… and the doctor gave this thin lanky youth a long look. Sam checked his own door to see if there was a lock…it wasn't much of a lock. It could be broken open easily. Moyse looked with interest as Sam closed the door and checked that the lock worked. He was then surprised to actually get eye contact from Sam. He looked at Moyse in the eyes and Moyse sort of wished that the boy hadn't. There was something dreadful behind those eyes. Something so vile and horrific that Moyse had to turn his head.

'The lock is there for your security. So that no one can walk in on you. We encourage privacy. It's important. We don't go into each other's rooms. If you want to talk to someone there is a common room. If you want to talk privately to someone then there is a room for that too. Do you understand? This lock isn't meant to keep people out if they need to get in here.'

Sam did something else unusual and blinked… prodded the lock and shrugged.

A breakthrough? That easily? Moyse didn't think so. This was just Sam settling in. He was sure of it.

'Are there any questions?'

There was no answer, so maybe there were no more questions. Sam went and sat on his bed. He bounced a couple of times and then flopped back and stared at the ceiling. Moyse went over and sat on the bed next to him. 'What can you see up there?'

And Sam turned his head to look at the doctor and again there was that eye contact and again Moyse had to look away. 'Angels.'

The voice was so low and so soft that the doctor wondered if he'd imagined it. 'Angels?' he asked and Sam slowly nodded his head. Hallucinations? Delusions? Paranoia?' 'Are they dangerous Sam? Is that what you're scared of?'

There was no response other than Sam turning his head again to look at the ceiling. Maybe this wasn't a hopeless case after all. 'Can you describe them to me, Sam?'

'Fuck off.' Sam moaned… and that was the end of it for now. Sam had told the doctor to leave and so he gave Sam what he wanted. This wasn't going to end here though. Sam had spoken more in the ten minutes he'd been here than in all the time he'd been at Pindar. There was either something very wrong with Pindar or something very right about here. Moyse thought it was his gentle loving care which got the results. His kind of love always got the lads to open up to him. They trusted him. They loved him and Moyse loved them all back. He was going to get to love Sam later. Let the lad settle and trust… then the loving would start.

o-o-o

Floyd sat alone on the steps of The Great Hall. He'd been here many times before but he didn't think he'd ever been here and felt quite so miserable. He'd felt angry here before… he'd felt blind rage and he'd felt deep undying ( well not undying, but for a few hours maybe) sorrow. He'd been here to plead for things, to kill things, to sacrifice things and now he was back to begging again.

He'd spent maybe a week laying on his belly speaking quietly and only when spoken to. He'd offered up all he had… which wasn't much… actually it wasn't anything at all. He had nothing left but his lighter and that wasn't going to be given up for anything. He'd lost his boys AGAIN and he'd lost his invulnerability. He was musing on everything he'd lost in his battle to keep what was his. It seemed that the more he fought against losing things, the quicker it all just slipped between his fingers. Maybe, he thought, if he stopped being so forceful they'd give him what he wanted. If he stopped shouting and raging and screaming abuse… if he cut out the threats and the descriptions of torture and maiming he would carry out on them… maybe then they'd listen… so here's Floyd sitting quietly, rocking back and forth… biting at the skin around his fingernails, scraping his teeth clean with his thumb nails and just sitting, waiting and waiting and waiting…

'You still here?' A single voice.

Floyd looked up into the face of something black, scaled, wet, fiery, dry, damp… monstrous. 'When can I return?' He asked as meekly as he was able. It came out as an irritated snap.

'We are considering things. It might take a while. You know what they're like for procrastination. Small point in your sitting there.' A long talon touched Floyd's chest. It dug in through the thin fabric of the shirt he had on and punctured a small hole in his skin. The talon snagged and pulled back. Floyd sighed.

'OK.' He stood. 'I get it. You want me to go away. You want me to wait, but you don't understand that I don't have time to wait. I am on a limited number of days… I have just over 3000 days left. Do you know how heartbreaking it is to sit here and waste them?' Not that he felt heartbroken. He actually didn't feel much at all, but they didn't know that did they? The need to go back was to reclaim what he'd lost. For now the reason he wanted those things so badly was lost. He was in that swimmy dark place where he didn't give a fuck.

'Go see The Old Woman. I feel she will want to have a word with you.' The demon told Floyd… and Floyd flipped it the bird and walked away slowly… very slowly. He wasn't in a hurry for now. But maybe in half an hour he would be, but not now. He had to decide what he was going to say to The Old Woman. He had to think carefully.

She was there almost as soon as Floyd felt the grass beneath his feet. He scowled and paced and watched her out of the corner of his eye.

How easy it would be to snap that old neck. It would take but seconds. But no, that was a line he couldn't cross and any way, she probably had something to protect her from such accidents… like FUCKING IMMORTALITY. Floyd gritted his teeth and picked at the place the demon had prodded him. There was a greenish coloured scab forming there already.

'Floyd.' She put out a hand towards him and Floyd wanted to take the withered sticks and stuff them down the front of his jeans. He was tired of talking. He was bored of begging. He'd done with negotiations. He wanted back… he wanted what was his by right. What he'd won. What he'd claimed… The things he fucked… they were his!

'Old Woman.' The words stuck there in his throat for a while before he was able to spit them out.

'Sit with me for a while. Talk with me. Tell me…'

Floyd fell to his knees and then his butt. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees. 'I don't mind telling you, that I've talked and talked and nothing is happening.' A small tick of the head. A twitch next to his eye.

She sat facing him and fanned her kaftan around on the grass and wafted the sickly, dry smell of old woman and lavender in Floyd's direction. He placed a hand over his mouth and nose and watched her from between his fingers for a while. 'You did a good job.' She smiled and Floyd thought her face was going to crumple and fall off, but somehow it stayed stuck to the old bones.

'Yes.' He did well not to get up and stomp her to the fucking GRASS! 'Did well with what?' He asked… waving his hand in front of his face now. 'I want a smoke.'

She ignored his odd gestures and tone of voice and smiled at him. She'd always had a very soft spot for Floyd. 'You protected Spencer. He got away unharmed. You guarded him as you should have done.'

'Great.' Floyd started tugging at the grass now and putting bits into his mouth. 'And who protected me huh? Who was there to keep an eye on what happened to me? Let me think… Oh I remember! Don't tell me the answer now… NO one! No fucking ONE! I was ripped… torn… eaten and who stepped in for me? WHO?'

She looked startled for a moment. She looked like she was going to get up and run away… run like everyone else does, run and never look back. 'Floyd… you protected Spencer. That was your job. You were successful.'

He was reaching the point that you reach when you're so angry that you burst out into childish tears. He rubbed at his nose, spat out some grass and shrugged… then in a lowered whisper. 'The cunt took my fucking heart and liver. They are my essence. They are what make me what I am. What the FUCK am I without? How can I be…' Another shrug… 'How can I be, Old Woman. I'm not me any longer. He ate me. I'm partly Iolanda and do you know how fucking depressing that is?' And now… the tears. The trail of wet down his face which he scruffed off with the heel of his left hand and. 'And some fuck took part of me as a token. They TOOK Part OF ME! They… cut me… Old Woman…' Again his voice lowered. 'Have you any idea what that means? Do you know? Can you even begin to think how that FEELS?'

She swallowed. She'd never seen Floyd cry. She'd seen him angry and pissed off but this was beyond that. This was some kind of implosion she was witnessing. 'He didn't eat what he took.' She wavered a hand over his knee but didn't quite touch.

Floyd's head snapped up… again that tick of the head snapping to the side and back again, almost like you would see in a horror movie. Too fast to keep your eye tracking it… and again the twitching muscle under his eye… accompanying that was green grassy drool. 'What? What the fuck? I felt him! I could… I was…' He leaned forwards over her knees. Drips of Floyds green saliva dropped onto her kaftan and slowly soaked in. 'I felt his head wrap around my heart. I FELT IT. I could feel the tugging and pulling as it was torn from me. I saw him hold it up. I could feel his hands delving into my stomach…' Now one of her hands rested gently on the top of Floyd's sweaty dark head.

'I know what you felt. I know what he did. He didn't devour any part of you.' She put her fingers under his chin now and lifted his wet drooling face to level with her own. 'There is no part of you inside of him.'

Floyd opened his mouth to shout at her again and then closed it. 'Then… if he didn't… and they weren't returned to Spencer for burial…'

She sighed. 'Forensics. They are in bottles in a lab. They have been sliced and inspected and looked at under microscopes. They've had sample sent to different labs and results are written up in some weird and wonderful medical journal. But the bulk of you is bottled and safe. Iolanda didn't get the chance to eat them. He had to leave.

Floyd wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and twitched. 'Send me back to my boys.' Now the matter of his internal organs was sorted he could get onto the next subject.

'Your job is completed. You don't have to go back. You can move on. Be given someone else. There is a child called Declan I would like you to care for – keep an eye out for. He needs someone to make sure he stays safe. Are you interested?'

No he wasn't. He wanted Spencer and Sam. He wanted them badly. 'I need my boys back. I don't want to care for some kid. I want what is mine. It's is rightfully mine. I fucking demand that I am returned so I can fucking SCREW them! I want to FUCK MY BOYS! Why…' He stopped and put a hand over his mouth. He'd not meant to say that. 'What I mean… What I want to do… what I need to do is keep them safe and make sure that they're happy.'

The Old Woman was frowning. Deep lines had appeared between her eyes. Floyd wanted to reach out and run a finger down between them, but he thought she might snap his hand off if he tried.

'I want to protect them…' Floyd insisted. The temporary heart he'd been given… the one with nothing of him in it… the empty damned pump… a pump was all this bloody thing was (no pun intended) but DAMN!...it was thumping fast and skipping and dancing in his chest. It was getting ready to crawl out of his throat and do a jig on his tongue. 'Please… I NEED them.' He just wished he could remember why. Why did he need them? He had a feeling that he'd be just as content, or miserable with this other person, this lad Declan, than he would be with Spencer. There was no actual emotion attached to them other than familiarity. 'How old is Declan?' It was worth asking.

'Twelve.' She spoke softly. Maybe he was going to see some sense here.

'I can't fuck a twelve year old.' Floyd got to his feet. 'Well I can… obviously I can! Is that what you want? You want to turn me into some fucking kiddie fiddler? You fucking Old BITCH! You fucking deceitful WHORE!'

And he was standing on a dark rubbery floor with his hands out in front of him… clawing, about to gouge her eyes out of her face. He walked a tight circle. 'Send me the FUCK BACK!' He howled into the darkness. 'Send me back and let me get what I deserve!'

That sounded like a good idea to everyone. Let him get exactly what he deserves. It was a deal.

o-o-o

There was a courtyard in this new place Sam was staying in. There was a large window in one of the walls in the common room and Sam stood which his back to the wall opposite and stared into the inky darkness of the glass. The three other boys were sitting doing homework or maybe they were reading or scribbling or just fucking around. Sam didn't care. All of his attention was taken up by staring at the window. Looking for something. Looking for that face, but… Sam took a step towards it. Moyse was watching from over the top of a magazine. He was here personally most of the time. He lived here with the lads. It was how Moyse liked it, but this was curious. Sam was walking to the window with his hands out in front of him and his head cocked to one side. Moyse got up from his chair and moved over slowly to where Sam now had his hands pressed against the glass and his head tilted back. He was looking at the night sky.

'Angels?' Moyse asked Sam and Sam slowly and almost painfully turned to face him.

'In my religion.' Sam whispered so quietly that Moyse had to strain to hear him. He wondered how many other times Sam had spoken and no one had listened. His voice was so quiet that it sounded like feathers falling in an ocean. '…They say that when and angel dies that a star blinks out of existence.' Sam looked back at the night sky. 'A star is a sun, they are not angels. Why would a sun fail and die because an angel has died?'

Moyse looked out at the window with Sam. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. 'Well it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but things like that are a comfort to some people.'

Sam nodded. 'Well not to me, because there are no missing stars.'

'Well there might be. Maybe one a long way off that we can't see? Do you think an angel has died? Is that what is scaring you?'

'I _know_ an angel has died.' Sam placed a hand on his chest. 'I can feel it here.' He placed a hand on his head. 'I can feel it here too, but that's not what's scaring me.' He turned again and looked at Moyse. 'The thing that killed the angel is what scares me. He will look like an every day joe normal, but will be a demon. You can't prepare for it. You can't defend against something like that. I've come to realise though, that it will find me and it will take me. I can't avoid that can I? What do you think?'

Moyse was looking at Sam now with a fresh pair of eyes. The abuse obviously hadn't just been emotional. There was some kind of satanic mumbo jumbo going on too. He sighed deeply. 'Nothing can get in here. You are safe here. You can relax.'

Sam smiled a lethargic smile. 'So Dr Moyse. It's been nice chatting. You don't believe a word I've said so I might just keep my mouth shut from now on. I'll just end up being told I'm bonkers… and I think I'm the most sane person here… I hear voices.' Sam told him. 'I hear them all the time… blah blah blah… nattering on and on at me about what they're going to do to me and sometimes it makes me close off and go somewhere else for a while… I'm going to bed now. Do you have a load of meds to force into my gob before I go?'

Moyse nodded. 'I have a list.'

'Sure you do. You have a list. Drug the violent simpleton. He'll not know what's going on. He'll not understand. But you see… I do know. I do understand.'

Again Moyse nodded. For all the joy it brought him that Sam was talking, it was now creeping him out and he wished he'd be quiet again. The silent, puking, urinating Sam was far more understandable than this weirdness. 'Well go and get ready for bed and I'll explain what all the pills are for once you're ready. Do you want a drink of hot chocolate? I'll make you one.'

'Oh yes… wonderful.' Sarcasm dripped from Sam's tongue. 'I'll go wash then. Got to be nice and clean huh?' Sam moved away now and out towards his room.

'Odd child.' Moyse muttered and walked off the make the drink.

Sam was in blue and white spotted pyjamas when Moyse knocked on the door and was told he could come in. Sam smiled, tucked his hair behind his ears and patted the night stand. 'Just pop it on there if you don't mind.' And Moyse placed the drink there. 'So when are you returning?' Sam asked now as he slipped his feet under the covers. 'Do you want me to stay awake?'

Moyse took a couple of steps away. 'What do you mean? Bed checks?'

Sam grinned. 'Is that what you call it? That's cute. So are you going to fuck me or not? I like to know just so I can mentally prepare myself. I don't mind. I'm a whore.' Sam's grin didn't go away.

Moyse shook his head and now stood with one hand on the door handle, but he was still in the room.

'Don't look so coy, Moyse. I know you want me. Come here now. Stick your dick up my arse… or I'll blow you.'

The doctor slipped the lock across. 'You need to lay down…'

'Oh I will. You want me on my front or my back?'

Moyse stood looking at the skinny thing in the bed. He pulled a chair over and stuck it under the door handle. The locks really did need to be more secure than they were. 'Back.' He sighed as he walked over to the bed and tore the covers back out of the way. 'Get on your back you dirty little boy.'

o-o-o

Spencer stood in front of a door which had just been slammed in his face. There had been no words exchanged. Spencer hadn't been able to tell Hotch how sorry he was and he _was_ sorry and he should have come over sooner… he should have come over before his own heart had been broken again. He should have come over to offer comfort and not expect any. He didn't hang around. There was no point. This just proved to Spencer that it was time to cross Hotch off of his list of friends. He walked away with slumped shoulders and yes, he was feeling sorry for himself. He'd worked out what it was he was going to say. It was all figured out in his head, but he'd only drawn in one breath when the door had slammed again.

He went to the second hand book store and picked up the books he'd ordered and then wandered down towards the police station to ask if there was any news on Sam yet. He sat in on of the plastic chairs which lined one of the walls and waited to be told not to come back again. There was no news and they really didn't expect any.

'He's not a child. If he doesn't want to be found then there's not a lot we can do about it.'

That's what he was told today.

They'd given up.

How could they all give up on Sam so easily? How could they all forget Floyd so quickly? Why didn't anyone understand that without them life had no meaning?

He walked slowly to the cemetery today. He had nothing to leave there and it made him wonder if he too was becoming lax and forgetting to do those little things he had promised himself he'd always do. He sat on the grass and rested his head on the dark stone. 'You see, if I could find Sam… if I could do that… I could maybe persuade him to get some clocks. I'm trying, Floyd. I'm really trying but I don't know what to do. Help me out here. Tell me what I need to do next. I've reached the end of the trail. I've come to the final brick wall and I don't know how to get over it. Do I kill myself? Is that the way forward? Is Sam with you? Did he find his way back? Just a clue, a hint. Tell me what I need to do next.'


	3. Chapter 3

3

Moyse was gone from Sam's room only fifteen minutes later. He'd left instructions for Sam to have another shower and to keep his mouth shut. Sam told Moyse that he'd start screaming rape this time tomorrow if he didn't provide him with his basic needs. Cocaine. He would scream so loud and hard, he whispered to Moyse, that everyone within a fifty mile radius would hear and following that the whole of America would know. Moyse stood with this hand on the door handle and frowned at Sam…

'Where are you from?'

'The crack of your mothers arse.' Sam hissed.

Moyse walked back to the bed where Sam was pulling his pyjama bottoms back on. 'Where are you from? Where were you born? What accent is that?'

Sam licked his lips. 'You see the moment I tell someone, they drug me. So I'll keep my mouth shut on that.'

'What country do you think you're in?'

Now Sam looked confused. He knew what damned country he was in! 'Well, my accent is a bit English, because the people who… that fucker… that bastard arsehole whore of a bitch fuck… and of course HIM!' Sam jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. 'The dead angel. They speak like this… I'm in America though, aren't I?'

Moyse wanted to do a little happy dance! This boy wasn't even Canadian! No one was going to be looking for him because no one would be reporting him missing. 'Of course.' Moyse lied. 'Go to sleep now.'

'Fucking bellend tosser.' Sam spat at Moyse, who was wishing that this boy would go back to his former silent state.

Sam slept well. For a whole hour he slept before the nightmare hit. It came screaming into his head with fire and anger and tearing flesh. Sam could, in his nightmare, smell his flesh burning, he could feel the hot air searing his lungs and cutting off the air he needed. He could feel his eyes bubbling and swelling and popping in his head and the sweet wetness running down his face and sizzling on his skin which was sweating blood, weren't tears… he felt his heart explode and Sam screamed.

The staff found him curled up on the floor doing his usual panic related actions. His pyjamas were wet, he was laying in puke, his hands were at his face… one sliding down his throat and the other clawing at his eyes. They woke him. They helped him to shower and they redressed him as someone else cleaned the mess on the floor. All this time Sam didn't seem to wake up. He kept trying to get to his eyes. He insisted on prodding and scratching and trying to tear at his face. They put him back on his bed and strapped him down. They stabbed needles in his thighs and they sat an orderly in a chair under the window. 'Don't take your eyes off him. We've been told he's trouble. And don't for goodness sake unstrap him.'

So the noisy, mouthy Sam was silenced again. This time it was partly Sam who slipped back into his former state of keeping his back to the wall and staying away from windows. He had to be led to a table and told to eat and he _would_ eat, but with his fingers or sometimes he slipped his hands behind his back and just tipped his face forwards and ate like a dog. The other three kids didn't approach him. They kept right away from this older weirder person. Sam masturbated openly… he had no nudity taboo. He had to be given clothes to put on each day or he'd not bother with them. If he used the bathroom he'd often reappear only half dressed and sometimes in a nasty state – someone had to watch him constantly. The only time Sam was alone was when he wanted to use the toilet… and if he was told to wait, Sam was happy to pull down his jeans and squat on the floor. It was almost an effort for him to use toilets… the only thing he'd use without being told, was the shower.

Moyse watched Sam carefully. He thought that there would be flying accusations of all sorts, but Sam had closed down as tight as he had been at Pindar. Moyse, being in charge of the place had the chance to cancel Sam's counselling sessions. He had the chance to stop the other doctors from seeing Sam and trying to get him to confide in them. Moyse took Sam as a personal challenge. He was usually there when Sam had to take his meds and on the days Sam refused them and threw himself onto the floor tearing off the clothes he had on and shouting something about dogs and whores – and he would always advise that Sam was sedated, taken to his room and restrained until the following day.

It seemed harsh to some people, but it was the only way to keep Sam safe.

He wasn't particularly safe from Moyse though. The cocaine hadn't been supplied, but he was able to give Sam other things which he could snort. It just wasn't going to give Sam a high… it was mostly baby powder and baking powder, laced with strong painkillers and anti-psychotics. This wasn't too bad. Sam must have been in pain and he was certainly psychotic. It would keep him calm. It would stop him from blabbing about what went on in his room some nights after dark. Not that anyone would believe a boy who thought that angels were real.

They attempted to school Sam, being very unsure of his education level or if he had ever been educated. Sam resisted. He tried to break the computer. He hurled basic reading books across the room. He tried to stab the tutor with a pencil. They didn't have the option of sending Sam home. This _was_ his home, so when his fits of anger became destructive or dangerous, Sam was dragged to his room and the good old sedation and tie down routine was carried out. Occasionally Sam howled out the word 'NO' when the long wide strap which held his chest down was pulled in place. He shook his head back and forth and tried to tip it back out of the way as something was strapped to his head and around his chin. They put deep fluffy sheepskin restraints on his arms, hands, ankles and across the tops of his legs…

Once they found him strapped down and choking on his own vomit. They had to quickly rescue him and lay him on his side with gentle 'there, there, there' hands on his back and calming 'everything will be all right' voices… but…

…everything wasn't going to be all right. Sam knew it. He could feel it squeezing in on him. He could smell that rank and rancid stink of Iolanda getting closer… homing in on him like a rat would on food in a sewer. He could feel… almost feel… Iolanda's fingers digging around in his brain. 'What have you got for me, my little puppy… what have you got for me you lovely cunt? Got something for me have you sweet one?'

And Sam would stop doing what he had been doing… staring at nothing, picking his teeth, playing with something down the front of his trousers, prodding jello with his little finger and he'd scream… 'Fuck the fuck off whoreson! I'm not your cunt anymore.' And everyone would turn to look at him and they would make shushing sounds at him and stroke his hair and push the jello in front of him again.

'Maybe we can try to use a spoon.' Anything to distract him from an outburst.

No one asked who he was talking to and Moyse never bothered talking to Sam now. He would just slip into his room and push the chair under the door handle and either flip Sam onto his back or onto his front, or if Sam was already how Moyse wanted him he'd not even have to do that… just straight there, pulling down his pyjamas and pulling Sam up so that he was kneeling and then dragging him into position to suit him. Sam didn't resist. Sam was never awake enough to resist. But Sam never actually complied either. He didn't push back. He didn't get with the action… He just allowed Moyse to use him and then when Moyse was gone again, Sam would curl up and go to sleep.

But he knew that Iolanda was getting closer and he knew that Iolanda was going to hurt him much worse than Moyse was. What Moyse was doing was nothing more than playing ball in the park. It was a game… a game which made you sweaty and sometimes you wanted to wave your arms around and cry 'GOAL' but Sam didn't. He held back on that.

o-o-o

Floyd stood in a side street with his hands in the pockets of a long dark coat. He had no idea where he was or how he got here. He didn't know who the corpse was at his feet and he didn't know if he'd turned it into a corpse or had just found it there. He could feel in the deep square pockets that he had a small tin which he suspected held tobacco… he had his silver lighter and he had a few coins, and maybe a few crumpled notes. He glanced down at the thing in front of him and then stepped over him and walked down the side street, away from the crowds of the people and away from bright lights. He slipped into a doorway and sat down with his knees bent upwards and his arms wrapped around his shins. He knew that legally he was dead. He knew that he couldn't contact Rossi for assistance, but he could still go fuck Spencer…

'Why do I need assistance to do that anyway?' Floyd smirked to himself. 'Why do I need that old fuck as a crutch? I don't. I just need Spencer and I need Sam.' He pulled out the small (green) tin and opened it. Sure enough it contained some of his lovely herbal mix and old dried leaves to wrap it in. He didn't smoke now though. He didn't want to get out of his brains on his love smoke when he was only about a hundred foot from his latest kill – (really he couldn't deny it was him even if he couldn't remember. How many of his kills _could_ he actually remember?) The only thing Floyd wanted more than to abuse and rape Spencer was to find the bastard who took his toe – oh and he needed his heart and liver back… thanks… that was kind of important too, but all he knew was that it was in some fucking forensics lab. What was so interesting about his heart anyway – to other people at least? To Floyd his own heart was immensely interesting. He sat in the same place, the empty door way leading to an empty building until the night started to become daytime. The body was still there. Floyd could see the white of the guy… or maybe a girl's (?) hoodie. This area was very quiet apart from those very distant lights which had faded now that the sun had started to come up. It seemed to be disused warehouses and Floyd could smell water. Not the sea, but dirty murky river water. A big river. But maybe not big enough now to take the large (blah blah blah blah)… Floyd's thoughts flew around his head like old dust. He wanted to cling onto one thought and stick with it, but it seemed impossible… 'Boats… and the… Oh! Did you see that bird… wonderful… love walking by the river, a bridge… graffiti – bubble bath love is the best – Snow! Snow! Snow! Sammy… Sammy-boy the cunt where are you. Short term deliveries only because he's on his way. Don't go there! Just don't go there! Bollocks to you! What the hell do you think you're looking at? Never seen someone talking to himself before… Run! I would – Run you dirty fucking whore…' And so his chatter carried on. He walked by the water, under the bridge and down to some big old gates which hung open like… 'A fucking moron's mouth… drooling spit and blood for the doctors.' He slipped out of the gates and down the small mostly un-used road. A couple of cars and trucks zipped by, but no one paid any attention to the man walking along with blood on his hands.

Floyd stopped and looked back the way he'd come. There had been no blood there earlier. There had been no blood when he'd opened the small tobacco tin. There's been none later when he'd rolled a smoke and enjoyed the chemicals roaring down into those empty places where he once had a soul… where he once had his life which was gone, for now… but now he had blood on his hands and moving the sleeve of the dark coat up he could see that his shirt cuffs were sodden, but his coat sleeves were dry. 'I took my coat off and killed someone. That whore?' Floyd again looked back the way he'd walked. 'I don't remember doing that.' He spun on his heel of his worn down boots and walked a bit faster now. 'I'm bonkers if I can't even remember killing someone not ten minutes ago… You know? That's wrong. That's insanity at its best. Don't you think? I can understand not remembering something years ago or maybe even months ago, but minutes?' Floyd shrugged and began to lick his hands clean… 'Female.' He muttered. 'Maybe that's why I can't remember? It's just not worth using up my memory banks with cheap girly cunny.' He grinned and began sucking on his shirt cuffs.

Standing in the shadows across the street he could see the apartment block Spencer lived in. He'd seen him leave a little while ago. He had driven out of the underground parking. Had he been walking Floyd thought he might have approached. But he watched the car go by and he caught a side view of Spencer's face through the side window and he pulled back further into the murky shadows just in case Spencer saw him standing there. He wasn't ready just yet. Not quite yet. First he wanted to just watch him and see what he was up to. He also needed to know if Spencer was being followed by Iolanda or by anyone else for that matter. All seemed normal though. As normal as it could be.

Floyd waited for a gap in the traffic and walked quickly over the road. He ran a hand over the security buttons on the wall and buzzed himself into the hallway at the bottom. Today Floyd took the stairs. Floyd always took the stairs. He didn't like the confined danger of the elevator. He bounced happily up them and down the passage to Spencer's (his damnit! It was HIS… he paid the fucking rent!) door and again ran his fingers lightly over the lock, like he had over the buttons downstairs. He slipped into the apartment and turned off the alarm and closed the door with a kick. The place was stuffy and dark. The curtains were closed tight in the lounge. The bedroom was also dark and almost clammy it was so oppressive. He breathed in the smells of the bedroom and noted with pleasure that it was only Spencer he could smell and then he walked to the lounge. There wasn't anything he wanted or needed. He just needed to make sure that Spencer hadn't forgotten him and moved onto someone else. Spencer had a habit of clinging onto someone else when Floyd wasn't around and he was aware of that. Not that it _really_ mattered. Spencer was just something to take his anger out on and cheating on him was a good reason…

'A new book…' Again his concentration and thoughts drifted as something caught his attention. Floyd walked to the book shelf and looked along the spines of the books and there _was_ a new book and it was one that Floyd had never read. He slipped the big leather bound tome out of its place and ran his fingers over the front. 'Ah… a book.' He said… already forgotten why he'd picked it up, but he put it under his arm and then sat in Spencer's leather chair and rolled a smoke. He flicked ash on the floor and when he was done, pinched out the end and stuffed it in his pocket. The urge to squash it on that nice coffee table was quite strong, but something deep back in his mind stopped him from doing that. 'You know all things considered… being dead twice in quite short succession – it's quite amazing that I've not lost my mind… yet.' Floyd sighed, got up off the chair and left the apartment. He didn't wait for Spencer to come back. He wanted to find a quiet place now and read the book he had found. He wasn't sure where he'd found it, but it was a heavy old thing and probably cost a lot of money. A shame just to throw it away.

It was crawling towards dusk when Spencer pulled up in the car again. He was still fuming from his visit to the cemetery. There had been two more stones placed on the headstone and that just _did Spencer's head IN_. He didn't like that other people were visiting. He didn't like that someone wanted him to know and now he was wondering if it even was Emily. Dave wouldn't do such a thing. Dave was Catholic… Dave wouldn't go there anyway. Maybe Sam? No… not Sam… if it had been, Spencer thought Sam would have come to see him. He had a nasty itching feeling that it was Iolanda and that just infuriated him all the more. 'Just show yourself!' Spencer had shouted over the graves, but no one did. He was in a whirling unhappy mood when he got back. The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive and then it crawled and crawled, like a slug up to his floor. He stomped out of the elevator and something struck him as out of place. A smell? A thing? Something? A shadow in the wrong place? He didn't know… he couldn't place it. Maybe someone had burnt their dinner. Maybe someone had been out here smoking (which was not permitted)…he walked slowly in the tar which seemed to have wrapped around his legs and down to his apartment door. He stood inspecting the wood, looking for something, but he wasn't sure what. Maybe new scratches. Maybe something stuffed half under the door. Blood seeping out towards him, green fumes? Nothing though. Nothing was out of place until Spencer put his key in the lock and noted that it was no longer double locked. Carefully he pushed his door open. He listened out for the buzz, buzz, buzz of the alarm asking to be turned off, but there was nothing. A red blinking light to tell Spencer that the alarm had been deactivated and now a smell so strong that it took Spencer's breath away.

'Floyd?' It was certainly the smell Floyd carried with him everywhere. It was musky and dirty and there was the heavy scent of his cheroots. 'Floyd!' Spencer hurled through the apartment, throwing open doors as he went. There was no one here, but someone _had_ been here. There was a scattering of ash on the floor. The bedroom door was wide open…

'The book.' Spencer stood looking at the gap where the book had been. 'You came and took my book?' Now a puzzled frown… but he was picking up the phone and pressing well known buttons without even having to look at it.

'Reid?'

'Rossi.' Spencer answered. 'He's been to my apartment.'

A hiss of air escaping over teeth. Irritated? Worried? Spencer couldn't tell. 'Iolanda?'

'Floyd.' A whisper. 'I can smell him. He took a book.

'He broke in?' Rossi asked with disbelief. Floyd was dead. Why couldn't he _stay_ dead?

'No… he doesn't have to, but…'

'Do you want me to come over?' He didn't want to and that was evident in his voice.

Spencer sighed. 'I guess not. I just… I wondered if Iolanda could get in.'

A while of silence and then that deep drawing in of breath again. 'Iolanda has a key?'

'No… no, but nor does Floyd. He doesn't need one.'

To Rossi it was making no sense at all. He was going to go out tonight. He had it planned. Friends… meeting up and having a relaxing time. It was the first night in a long time that the weather wasn't so vile that you wanted to stay cocooned in your own home and ignore the world outside and he wasn't going to waste this fresh evening talking to someone who had obviously lost his mind. 'Have you spoken to a professional yet?' He ended up asking.

'I'm not mad. I know…'

'Well sometimes what you think you know is maybe misleading. You need to talk to someone, Reid.'

Now Spencer's turn to take that deep breath. 'I guess. Thanks.' Though what he was thanking Dave for he didn't know.

'Anytime.' Dave replied. _Anytime I've not got something else arranged_… is what he meant.

Spencer put the phone down, went to the drawer and pulled out a roll of white tape. He walked quickly around the apartment replacing all the tape on the locks with new bits. He checked the alarm, double checked it… checked it again… put tape over the door locks to hold them in place. Even if someone had a key and tried to get in, they'd not be able to. He put the chain on, slipped the locks across and then went to his bedroom, closed and locked the door, taped it… sat on his bed and hugged his shins. He sent out a message to Floyd.

_Where are you?_

But got white noise as a reply.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Sam knew what was going on. He knew more than anyone dared think. He sucked up his jello and splattered soup and stew everywhere, but that was just a distraction. He knew that some of his food had been spiked. He could smell the bitter tang… that odd offish smell which was there when the food made him woozy and lose control of his bladder and bowel. Why they'd want him to shit himself and piss everywhere he wasn't sure, but he did know that the griping pains arrived after the food and the explosion of stink would accompany it.

The first few times it happened he actually tried to get to the bathroom in time. Once he was even almost there, walking with one hand pressing his belly and the other holding onto furniture. The other times he was hardly out of the small dining room (with a counter where the staff placed the plates of food, but always handed Sam his. They said it was because Sam's food had been prepared so that he could eat with his fingers. BULLSHIT) when his body couldn't hold on any longer and he was forced to his knees as fire seemed to blast from every orifice. That was when he stopped eating. It wasn't hunger strike, it was an avoidance of feeling like he was dying. That seemed reasonable enough to Sam. He also knew that his drink of hot (warm) chocolate at night was spiked. It made his head foggy and woozy and wrong. It stopped him from thinking straight and forced him into a long dark sleep and he'd wake up in the morning feeling raped and abused. The man only had to ask and Sam would give. This was not necessary! So Sam stopped drinking his hot chocolate. He slipped out of bed after it had arrived and he carefully poured it away down the plug hole in the small white bathroom.

His stomach growled and he pinched at it and ground his knuckles into it to try to shut it up and after the fourth day it _did_ stop complaining. Sam drank water out of his bathroom faucets and refused anything from anywhere else. He was taken into be weighed and measured. They were keeping an eye on him. He was underweight for his height. Very underweight.

'You need to eat.' Sam was told.

Sam didn't react to them. He didn't even look as though he knew where he was.

'You will die if you don't eat.'

Still nothing from Sam. Really he knew that they'd be happy if he died. They wouldn't give a damn!

'You will end up being strapped down with a drip in your arm. You will be forced to eat.' A slightly less understanding doctor told him.

Sam didn't react to this either. Sam was adding up all the things they said and did to him though. He counted the times they forced him to strip down so that they could see if he was hurting himself. He made note that they never commented on the small bruises around his hips or over his buttocks.

Once his chin did a small wobble of distress. He had his head down and was looking at his toes and they were saying that they wanted to send him for ECT treatment. They wanted to jump start his brain again. This was what made Sam's chin wobble. But no one noticed it. They didn't see the tears which suddenly popped out and ran down his face. They saw him raise a hand to his face but were so used to slapping Sam's hands away from self harming himself that they assumed that was what he was doing. They moved his hands from his face… but they never remarked on the tears there. It didn't occur to them that he could hear them, respond to them… but inwardly he shrugged. For now that was for the best. There was going to be a big meeting before the ECT started. They needed to talk to all of the professionals… and so an emergency meeting was called for the following day. Sam's actions in refusing to eat were classed as _Something We Need To Get On Top Off_ – before he dies.

That night, Sam did as he had been doing for a while. He emptied his drink down the plug hole and rinsed his mug out with warm water. He placed it on the night stand next to his bed. He pulled crawled under his covers and waited, staring out into the dark.

Whispering in his ear…the continual threats… the plans they had for him. What they could and would do.

_You are ours now. You are ours… We can do what we want to you and if we want you to suffer then you will._

Sam silently told them to shut the fuck up and leave him alone and then listened out for footsteps in the hall. The problem was that Sam needed evidence. He was damned well determined to get what he needed. He wasn't going to stay here forever.

Sam wanted to go home.

The door creaked open. A triangle of light opened up on the floor and then closed up again. The door clicked shut. The lock snapped into place. The chair slid over the carpet and a small double knocking sound was heard as the back of the chair was pushed under the door handle. Sam now slipped his feet out from under the covers.

'On your front.' Moyse growled… hungry, greedy, dirty voice.

Sam though, slipped to his knees and as Moyse stepped in closer, Sam pulled at the front of the doctors trousers. He pinched open the button and pulled down the zip. Sam knew what he was doing. There was no protest from the man. Sam felt hands winding through his hair as his tongue licked and teased its way over the quickly hardening Moyse. There was hair pulling… there were mutters… there was sliding and sucking and pecking with lips… Sam rammed the man deep down the back of his throat and at just the right time, as Moyse shuddered and began to let go… Sam pulled very slightly back. Not all the way. He wanted this bastard to empty his seed into his mouth. He wanted him there.

Sam felt the hands leave his hair and he moved back to sit on his heels. He wiped his mouth over the sleeve of his pyjamas and then slowly got back onto his feet and climbed back into bed. No words exchanged. Sam waited for the sound of the door to open. He waited for the bastard who had been drugging and raping him to leave and then pulled two hairs out from between his whore's teeth. He grinned at the result, removed his pyjama top, placed the hairs in the small breast pocket and then folded it up and placed it under his pillow. He slept that night with no nightmares and no bad dreams. He just slept a long and very satisfying sleep. He thought that Moyse would too.

In the morning he dragged himself out of his bed but tucked the pyjama top into the drawer of his nightstand. Then he sat on his bed and waited to be called. He twiddled his thumbs and kept nervously glancing at the window, but today he was going home. He had that warm happy feeling inside of him. Sam pinched and scratched at his arms and pressed his first against his stomach to make sure that it made no alarming sounds when he was in the meeting. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to have ECT… For a start he had a horrible sickening feeling that they'd shave part of his head and another was that he didn't want his brain zapped. He might lose any sense he'd finally managed to gain.

Iolanda was never far from his thoughts though and it was him Sam was thinking about… running from him to be exact and what it would feel like when the dogs tore into him… it was that he was thinking when someone came into his room without knocking.

'You're needed in the meeting.' A woman's voice.

Sam slowly turned his head to look at him and then dipped his head down and did a little shudder.

'If you're cold, put your pyjama top back on. Have you still got it there?'

Sam dragged it back out of the drawer but didn't put it on. He held it tightly in his hands. Protectively if you want.

'Well you can pop it on later if you want.' She didn't offer to help. Wasn't her problem if he got chilly – but this place was always really too warm. She was sure that this skinny kid would be just fine.

He bounced off walls, tripped over things and walked into the furniture as he kept his head down, muttering nonsense under his breath… and the very occasional swear word as he stubbed his toe, or banged his funny bone. Eventually he was in a room with a table and a lot of people sitting around it. Sam stood in the doorway and peered at them all through his curtain of hair. His caseworker was sitting there. He'd not seen her since he'd been sent here. His teeth snapped together but he said nothing. He just clutched a tight hold of his pyjama top.

'What have you got there, Sam?' She asked kindly.

'Go fuck yourself.' Sam snarled back. He was in no mood for this shit. He slumped down into the only available chair. The door was closed and files were opened.

'Well firstly I'd like to say how well Sam has settled in.' That was Moyse. Sam folded his arms defensively across his chest squeezing the top closer. He was getting goose bumps on his skin, but was sticky and sweaty with mild panic. 'His violent outbursts had declined gradually, but now his refusal to eat has become a major problem. We think that the next reasonable recourse is ECT.'

Sam stood up.

The nurse who had been sitting at his side put a hand on his arm. 'Sit down and listen.' She whispered to him.

He looked at the nurse, glared at Moyse and then turned to the caseworker. He sat down, but his eyes didn't leave hers. 'You abandoned me.' He muttered.

'No Sam… No…'

'You abandoned me.' He repeated. He then turned to the nurse at his side. 'You pinched me when you washed me. You took hold of me in really tender places and you swore curses at me, telling me that I was a filthy animal, and you pinched me.' He turned to Moyse. 'That day when I panicked and you put me in restraints. That first time. You snuck back into my room when I was strapped to my bed and you twisted my nipples.' Sam wasn't sure where they lie came from, but the doctor's eyes went as wide as the nurse who was shaking her head. Sam looked back at the caseworker and then he looked at the social worker. 'I've not been eating because Moyse or someone else has been drugging my food. They've been trying to keep me sedated. They poisoned me and made me shit myself. Then they moan that they have to clean up the mess… and then I get pinched and kicked by them for being a pest. They… they put stuff in my drink too… which I've been throwing away. I wont be drugged… I wont be electrocuted. There's nothing wrong with me… It's Moyse you need to look into.' Now Sam's eyes snapped back to Moyse…

'That's enough.' Moyse stood. 'Nurse, take him back to his room. This is not going to get us anywhere.'

The caseworker stood. She'd never heard Sam talk so coherently before. 'Let him speak.' She said. The social worker nodded her head.

Sam carried on. 'Moyse promised me cocaine if he could fuck me. But all I got was anti-psychotics and pain killers mixed with something which makes me sneeze and gives me headaches. Another way to sedate me. He reneged on his deal. He's a liar and a cheat. He waits till I can hardly think and I'm falling asleep and then he comes to my room and he touches and prods and then screws me… and there's no one here safe to talk to because they all damned well know. And I also know that Benny Bowskill in the room next to mine gets it too. I hear his yelps and I hear him crying and he's only twelve years old. I want to go home.'

The room fell into horrified silence. Moyse had his mouth slightly open, the nurse was half standing and half sitting. Eyes were flickering from Sam to Moyse and back again.

'You're surely not going to believe this nonsense.' Moyse exploded! 'The boy is sick! You know that! It's why we are here today.'

'I've proof.' Sam put the pyjama jacket down in front of him and then slid it across towards the caseworker. 'You know if you don't do anything about this that he'll kill me. He'll send his dogs. He'll tear me apart. He'll rape and abuse me and he'll tear out my heart and he will rip out my liver and I'll never exist again…' Sam's words seemed to have slipped from one thing and now onto another. 'You _can't_ leave me here. Not now… because Iolanda is just there.' Sam pointed at the window. 'And he can see in the dark and he will tear me through the keyhole. You can't keep demons out of a place like this. Don't you understand?' Sam stood again.

The case worker was sitting looking down at the pyjama top. 'Sam… please try to stay calm. I know you're frightened and I know this is difficult for you, but can you try to explain how this is proof?'

Sam's head snapped to the side so fast that the room span and span. He sat back down again and tipped his head back and howled like a wounded animal. Moyse thought that the meeting was ended but as soon as he made to leave, Sam slapped his hands down on the table.

'You will listen to me! I _need_ to get my fucking head in order, you abusive cunt! Let me think!' Now he pointed at the pyjama top. 'Right hand sleeve… after I blew Moyse last night I spat out onto the sleeve. His DNA will be there. His dirty spunk and my spit mixed. I also plucked from him two pubes. They're in the pocket. You can have them tested. How else would I have that stuff on my pyjamas? How the fuck else! Why don't you believe me? Why aren't you listening to me? You're going to leave me here to him aren't you? And when I die, when I'm found ravished and raped and torn you will blame Iolanda! I know! I know what you're THINKING!'

A hush spread through the room. A pin could have dropped. A fierce redness had crept over Moyse's face. How dare this creature say these things! How dare he slip by him this easily. How _dare_ he! And Sam was right! He would kill the little fuck! A nobody with no name in the wrong country. No one would miss the little bastard!

'This is insane.' Moyse said calmly. 'You really…'

The caseworker stood. 'I think I will talk to Sam alone.' She picked up the pyjama top and walked to the back of Sam's chair.

'As if that would happen. The locks on the doors are not going to stop someone from walking in… this is…' Moyse spluttered.

'You put a chair under the door handle. There's a scuff mark on the wood under that handle and there's marks in the carpet where the chair leg digs in.'

The police were called.

They crime scene people were called.

Sam slipped back into a perfect silence. He'd done all the talking he had to do for now. Hopefully he'd be out of this damned place and go somewhere like maybe home?

'Can I go home?' He asked the caseworker.

'We don't know where you live. We don't even know your name.'

Sam smiled and shrugged. 'I have a home in Wyoming… and my name is Sam.' He said. One was a lie and the other was truth.

'Wyoming isn't in Canada, Sam.'

'I know it's not.' He told her.

'You're not from Canada?' She actually looked stunned at this idea.

'No, I'm from Hades.' He whispered. 'That's why Iolanda wants me.'

o-o-o

Floyd spent part of the evening finding somewhere to live. He knew that he could just go home. He had a couple of places he could go, but as far as the world knew, he was dead and for now he was going to stay that way. For an unknown reason, he felt it was safer if he kept away… kept back in the shadows and just watched. There was a greedy, lunging, hungry need to get his hands on Spencer, but he was trying real hard to resist that because he had a feeling that one fuck would be all he'd get… he'd not allow it to continue beyond that. It would be the best he'd ever had and it would be something which could never be repeated… not by him… not by anyone.

'I'll kill him.' Floyd mumbled as he tossed the book into a bin. He'd read it… it was nothing which really excited his brain… he'd already forgotten what it was about and probably would soon forget that there had even been a book. 'I'll kill him because, deep inside of me I have something worming and crawling around…' Floyd stopped walking and looked up at the dull street light. 'Tonight? I should go tonight? What before I've worked everything out?' He cocked his head to one side as thought listening for an answer. 'You see, there are so many missing parts. I know he ran away. I know he left me to die… but there's more isn't there? What are you not telling me? What is it about Spencer? I _know_ that screwing him is going to blow my mind, but more? Is there more? You shut me out and expect me to know what to do? I don't! I don't know what to do!' He glanced back at the bin and considered rummaging. He had a feeling there was something in the bin which shouldn't be but he stepped back away from it and started to jog back towards Spencer's apartment. 'It's mine… all mine… all fucking mine! And if it's mine then I can and I will do with it what I fucking well want! He's mine… he's mine… And I'm going to go claim the mother fucker!'

o-o-o

Spencer sat on the bed for a few hours before he needed to get up and use the bathroom. He peeled back the tape off his bedroom door and walked on slightly shaking legs to the bathroom. The sound of peeing into the toilet bowl was almost deafening in the quiet peace of his apartment. He sighed, washed his hands and wiped them dry on the small white towel hanging on a loop next to the washbasin and then walked out into the hallway. He now wanted a drink of water and took two steps towards the kitchen to snatch a bottle of water out of the fridge when he heard it. A noise. A sound coming from his main door. Spencer stood staring at the door, sweat popping out in panicked beads on his brow. Someone was there. He mouthed a couple of words, but didn't dare actually speak.. 'oh dear god…'. The locks were moving, sliding across under the tape. The main lock was jiggling under the white strip he'd placed there. He moved quickly this time, bounding down the short hallway and moving his hands to push the locks back. The bolts shot open and Spencer's sweaty hands tried to get them back again, but now the tape he'd put there for comfort was getting in the way and he couldn't grip.

_Click_

The main door lock clicked open. Spencer's mouth opened ready to let out a scream… Then he decided that he was dreaming. He would wake up and be in bed… but until then… another click and a scraping sound… Spencer thought about just leaning on the door and stopping whoever it was out there… Iolanda… oh he was so sure about that… so very sure that he was getting ready to spend his last moments on this planet. He stepped back out of the way and glanced towards the kitchen door. He could get a knife. He could defend himself at least! But too late the door flew open with a bang and Spencer stood staring at Floyd. He felt his knees wobble. He felt the room get too hot. He watched as Floyd stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He watched Floyd's head tick to the side and quickly back again. He watched that muscle in at the corner of Floyd's eyes twitch.

He wanted to pounce on him, tear his clothes off and touch every part of Floyd he could get his hands on, but Floyd's expression stopped him just as he raised his hands to get ready to welcome him home again.

'You mother fucking bastard.'

It wasn't the welcome Spencer had expected. Maybe this wasn't Floyd. Maybe this was Iolanda using a different form and he just looked like Floyd?

'Floyd?'

'Who the hell else were you trying to keep out with your fucking pansy arsed tape over the fucking locks?'

Spencer shook his head slowly. 'I thought…'

Floyd walked forwards, put a hand on Spencer's chest and pushed him out of the way. Spencer swung to the side and pressed against the wall to allow Floyd to get by. 'Where is he?' Floyd snapped at Spencer as he walked through and down to the lounge. He threw himself onto the couch and did something which now made Spencer twitch slightly. Floyd put his dirty booted feet up onto the coffee table. This wasn't Floyd. It couldn't be his Floyd.

He followed the man he wanted so much that he thought he was going to throw up, down to the lounge and sat carefully down on the edge of his chair. He didn't want to get too comfortable. He wanted to be able to get up and run if he had to. 'Where is who?' Spencer's voice wobbled alarmingly.

'Sam. Where the fuck is Sam?'

Spencer didn't know what to say. He had no idea where Sam was. How could he say this and not rile Floyd. 'He escaped.' Spencer whispered and said his words slowly so he wouldn't stumble over them and look a fool.

'I know he fucking escaped!' Floyd stood and Spencer stood with him. A smear on mud was left on the table. 'I know he did and I know you did… it was me who didn't fucking get out of there! You left me to fucking be eaten like carrion.' His voice was raised but he wasn't shouting yet.

'You told me to go! You told me to leave.'

'What I say… what I said… what I mean… different! I wouldn't have fucking well left you! I died for you! I fucking got ripped to fucking shreds because of you! YOU!' _Now_ he was shouting. 'And Sam?'

'I don't know where Sam is…' And he repeated… 'He escaped. He got out before you arrived.'

Floyd was now spitting his anger into Spencer's face. 'I fucking know that! I know! So if he escaped and if he's OK where the fuck is he? Don't you know? Don't you realise that he can't survive if I'm dead?'

Spencer wanted to back away but the back of his legs was tight against the chair. He could side step but he didn't think he was going to get far. 'Floyd, I'm sorry…'

A backhander caught Spencer on the left cheek. Now he took that step to the side and covered the place Floyd had swiped at him. 'Don't you fucking tell me you're sorry! Don't you fucking DARE! Are you out searching for him? Are you? Are you tracking him through the forests and looking for him? No! No you're not! So you're not fucking sorry! You're spending your time in your own fucking self pity, shitting your heart out at every sodding shadow because you're scared… poor boy – poor boy scared of the DARK! How about that child… how about Sam? You're a fucking adult! Start acting like one and do what you're meant to do! Protect him!'

Spencer now was able to step back. He didn't know what to say! He'd been nagging and nagging Rossi to find Sam and yes, Floyd was right he was too damned scared to go looking himself. 'Rossi…'

'Fuck him! Fuck him and the fucking pizza he rolled in on! I'm not fucking interested in Rossi. I want to know why _you_ are not personally out there on your fucking hands and knees looking for Sam. Answer me! Tell me why! Give me a fucking good excuse not to mash you to a pulp for letting me down. Abandoning me, rejecting me… pushing me aside for you own fucking comfort!'

'It was… it… it was sn, sn, snowing and… I d, d… I don't… I can't…' He stopped. The words were all there in his head. A reasonable explanation as to why he was here in the comfort of his apartment and Sam was no where to be seen.

Floyd backed off and dropped back onto the couch again. He wiped at the mud on the table and let out a long sigh. 'I've missed you Babes.' He almost whispered. 'I've wanted you so much… I have a constant fucking hard on. You have _no_ idea what I've had to do to relieve myself of the discomfort.' He looked at the pale sweaty Spencer and grinned. 'Don't look at me like that'. He snapped. 'Sit down. You look like a scared rabbit. You know I'll never hurt you.'

The words made Spencer want to throw up. He swallowed and heard the dry click at the back of his throat. 'Where have you been?'

'I'm dead, Spencer. Where the fuck do you _think_ I've been. First Iolanda shot my brains out and then had me ripped and eaten by his dogs. It's taken me a small while to recover. Never mind though. Tell me what you've been up to. Honing your tracking skills?'

Spencer walked back to his chair and again sat just on the edge; not that it made a whole lot of difference last time. 'I've not been well.' He muttered.

'Not been well. I see. I see. That's why you've neglected your duties? That's why you've left me to rot in some fucking lab somewhere?'

Spencer fiddled with the seam on his cords and licked his dry lips again. He didn't understand that. He didn't know what Floyd was talking about. He'd been buried. He wasn't rotting in a lab somewhere. 'There was a funeral. I made sure that… I made… I told them to make sure that you were buried.'

Floyd nodded. 'How fucking thoughtful of you.'

'You're not in a lab…' Insane conversation… but lots of chats with Floyd contained insanity.

'Come here.' Floyd put a hand out to Spencer and he wanted to recoil from it. He didn't want to touch him. But he stood and moved to the couch and sat down next to him, not quite in physical contact but close enough to smell the dirt, the musk, the beautiful smells which Floyd always carried around with him. 'Put your hand here.' Floyd pointed to his chest. To where his heart was. Spencer carefully moved his hand forwards, but Floyd grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand hard against his chest. 'Tell me what you feel?'

'Feel?'

'Anything… any heart beating in there?'

Spencer moved his hand slightly and nodded. 'Yes, but…' He frowned and looked at Floyd. There was something wrong. It felt different somehow but dying will do that to a man.

'But what? But that's not me? Is that what you were going to say? Because you would have been damned right. Iolanda took my heart. He tore it out of me… so basically Spencer my darling lover… I'm no longer me. I'm a replacement… and I'm not a very happy bunny. Somewhere in a forensics lab is my heart and liver and I want them back.' Floyd's voice seemed to have softened slightly…

A trick. Spencer wasn't going to trust this. 'No… they didn't tell me that. I told them that I needed all of you. I told them and they said that everything that they recovered was there. They told me that!'

'Then they are liars.' Floyd said. He let go of Spencer's hand and pushed him out of the way. 'You can go perch on your chair again. You stink of stale sweat.'

'How do I know that you are who you say you are?' Spencer moaned. 'How do I know that you're not Iolanda?'

Floyd stood. 'I can prove that. Get up and strip.'

Spencer's head was shaking before he realised he was doing it. He wasn't going to strip for this person. He wasn't even sure it was Floyd! He was going to protest but didn't get the chance. Floyd was on him and ripping clothes, and throwing Spencer to the floor before he could blink. His head smacked on the wooden floor and Floyd was on him… grabbing his hair and smacking his face onto that floor. He was biting him, pulling him, punching him, digging in his fingernails… and Spencer was saying… 'no don't… stop…' But Floyd carried on with his probing fingers, and licking with his tongue… Spencer felt his lip split and a place above his eyebrow tear open as his head was smacked onto the floor again. This wasn't what he wanted! He'd missed Floyd so much but this wasn't the welcome home he'd imagined.

'You still think it's not me?' Floyd spat at Spencer's back. 'You recognise this?' Floyd tore into Spencer, pulling him tight and ramming hard. 'You remember me yet you fucking whore! You remember this! You want more reminding do you?' Spencer wanted to say _no_ and he wanted to say _yes_ and he wanted to get away and crawl somewhere dark and wake up from this nightmare. 'You fucking left me to die you cunt! Then you let them take bits of me and slice me up…'

'No! NO!' Spencer was howling for everything now… for the pain and for the denial. He really hadn't known… at least he didn't remember knowing that had happened!

'You abandoned Sam! You just thought of your fucking self you… you… Fuck! I have no words left to describe you! You motherfucking son of a bitch!' And Floyd's fist met with the back of Spencer's head and the world went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

5

The police talked to Sam. They wanted and needed to know everything that had happened to him since he was at Woody Pines. Sam clammed up. He wouldn't say a thing. He sat with his head down, drooling slightly and with his hands rammed down the front of his pants. He sat with the curtain of hair covering his face and wouldn't even confirm what his name was. The only thing he'd say was… 'I want to go home.'

Forensics had come back to confirm that the substance on the sleeve of Sam's pyjamas was what he had claimed. The small curly, dark pubic hairs were also what Sam had claimed. There was little doubt that the only way Sam could have had these things was the way he'd said. But he refused now to confirm it. As far as Sam was concerned he was away from that damned place and was somewhere safe. He felt safe around the cops. They'd not stick things in him and slap him around. They spoke in shocked but caring voices.

'Sam, he will be charged. You will never have to face him again, but we really would like a written statement. We need it written down here.'

Sam sat in sullen silence and shuddered slightly. That was the only response they got out of him.

'Sam, we need to know what your last name is, for the records, we need to be able to trace your family.'

'I want to go home.' Sam repeated and that was it for the day. He either didn't know his last name, was too broken in his mind to be able to say it, or he was just a stubborn trouble maker or maybe he had escaped from somewhere and didn't want to be returned. They thought he was unstable and illiterate. They thought he had special education needs. They had thought that he was paranoid, psychotic, delusional… but now they weren't sure of any of that. What the hell was this boy hiding? They made him strip and they took photos… Sam flinched from their hands and he backed into a corner when he saw the camera, but he didn't seem bothered about being naked. They took pictures of Sam with his hands covering his face and they took pictures of the mess his arms were in, the scars on his back, the old marks and the newer bruises. Whatever life Sam had had before he was found by the skiers it hadn't been a very pleasant one.

He slept that night in a bed at the home of a very nice lady and her husband. They were Foster carers who specialised in difficult teens. They didn't lock him in his room, but they locked all other doors. There were no other children in the house. It was safe. It was secure and Sam slid under the bed covers and asked Mr Green if he was coming to his room later or if he could just sleep and Mr Green looked sad and told Sam that he could sleep all he wanted or needed and so Sam was still sleeping at mid day the following day, when eventually a knock on his door woke him.

The house had a smell of toast and laundry to it. It was friendly and homely, but it wasn't Sam's home. He sat at the kitchen table and nibbled on the toast after sitting sniffing it or a while. It hurt to eat. It gave him pains in his side and made his eyes water, but he ate it because Mrs Green, who had told Sam to call her Sally, looked pleased that he was trying to eat and he wanted to please her and be nice.

'So, Sam, what is your favourite food? I was told that you like finger foods… is that right?'

Sam put the rest of his toast down and pushed hair off his face and looked up at Sally. It was the first real good look she'd had of him and her heart pounded. He seemed in one way so vulnerable and sad, yet in another way he looked like evil incarnate. 'I have trouble with manipulating food when using utensils.' He spoke softly and slowly, almost as though he was talking to someone who was slightly simple. 'So anything I can eat with my fingers will be good. I get pains in my stomach when I've not eaten for a while. It might take me some time to get used to it again. I might puke, but it's not an eating disorder. I know I look good the way I am. I don't want to put on weight, you see, but I don't want to lose any either.'

Sally thought that Sam needed to be fattened up somewhat, but she would go with what Sam wanted for now. She gave him a small smile. He didn't seem to be lacking intelligence. He could speak clearly. It seemed at least for now that he understood what was going on, though she'd been told that he was virtually incontinent and unable to feed himself. They'd said that he had rages and talked about someone called Iolanda who was out to get him… part of his paranoid delusions… but he seemed happy enough today.

'So, Sam, do you have hobbies? What is it you like to do?'

Sam was prodding at his toast, watching his finger slip into the soft whiteness under the thin brown crust. He peered up at her again. 'You don't have to be nice to me. I know you're getting paid good money to have me live here. I know I'm going home soon, so you can cut out the act, but I like… I erm… I like the stars. I like watching the nightsky, I love math, well, no… maybe I don't _love_ it but I find it comes very easy to me.' He twitched a smile at her. 'And I love clothes and make up, clubbing and… well… stuff.' He again was kind and didn't tell her that he liked getting high, or low and being banged like the little whore he was.

She sat down the other side of the table and pushed over a mug of coffee; hot and sweet and dark. 'What grade are you? Do you know? Have you attended regular school?'

'Always something gets in the way. I was at uni for a very short while. I was at college a bit too, but it never lasts. Something always gets in the way.'

Did he just say he was at uni? She studied Sam's face carefully… 'Uni? What did you study there?' Trick him into mistakes.

'Quantum mechanics. I wanted to be an astrophysicist but as I say… something always gets in the way. I'm not destined to hold down a job or get proper qualifications.'

She stared at him and shook her head. Was this boy pulling her leg? Was he joking? He couldn't be telling the truth. 'Which university did you study at?'

'Does it matter? I got a place cos the Feds sort of pushed the matter. It would be nice, but when you have the Feds on your arse all the time it's not fun. It's a very restrictive lifestyle.'

Now another question. Maybe the last one for now. 'How old are you Sam?'

'Somewhere between fourteen and eighteen. I think I'm around sixteen years old. I'm not sure though. Does it matter?'

Sam behaved. He acted like he thought a nice lad should act. He cleared up dishes and though after he'd washed the plates, he put everything in the wrong place it was still Sam being nice. He didn't feel the need to masturbate and he didn't shout, swear or kick things. He wanted to help Sally cook the evening dinner, but she told him to go and watch the television or listen to some music. She also told him that there were a lot of books and to help himself.

'So long as they're not fucking dot to sodding fucking dot books or colouring.' It was the first snipe of the day. Sam was getting tired. 'I think I'll go and relax.' And he wafted from the kitchen and sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Mr Green, (who was called John) to come home from work.

He heard the car pull up in the drive and he saw the shadow behind the glass of the front door and Sam felt his skin prickle in a bit of alarm. The door should be wooden or metal… fucking stone! But a glass front door? Insane. That could be anyone out there. As it happened it wasn't anyone, it was John Green and, yes John knew that Sam was there, but he still didn't expect the lad (who he had been told was very unapproachable and didn't like to be touched) to come howling at him and pounce, wrapping his arms and legs around him and planting kisses over the side of his face. John Green flailed backwards, missed the single step he'd just walked up and flew onto his back on the gravel of the driveway with Sam still firmly attached and seemingly not going anywhere. 'Welcome home!' Sam blurted out and pressed hard against the man.

They managed to untangle themselves from each other, but the way Sam pressed against him made John a bit red in the face and uncomfortable. It was more like a dog rubbing on his master than a teenaged boy. He guided Sam into the house with a hand on his shoulder and said over and over… 'It's great to be home too. Really great.' But this was a very strange reaction to get from someone who they'd been told was very quiet and didn't like being touched. Sam very obviously had no problem touching!

Dinner was served. There was sausage casserole which Sally and John had, but Sam had sausages which had been cooked under the grill. He had fried potatoes where Sally and John had mash. They all had some bright green peas though. Sam's eyes flicked from his food to theirs and back again and then he pushed his plate out of the way.

'Is there a problem?' Sally asked and John noted that she sounded almost nervous.

Sam prodded his plate. 'Why've I got different? You drugging my food?'

At this Sally seemed to relax. 'No, Sam. Why would I drug your food? You have different because I thought it would be nicer for you to eat your food that way. You can have the same as us if you want.'

Sam's eyes narrowed. 'Why did you make this?' Again he prodded the plate. 'Why give me something different?'

Sally took a deep breath. 'John and I have ours made like this. It would have burnt your fingers so I made you almost the same but in a way that it would make things more comfortable for you. If you don't want it, you can have the same as us. There's plenty for all of us.'

His eyes narrowed further. 'You don't understand me.' His fists smacked down onto the table now, making the cutlery jingle and jangle. 'Why would you care if I burnt my fingers or not? Why do you give a fuck if I can eat it or not? Why bother? Why not watch me pick through it and get blisters on my fingers.'

John almost reached out and pushed Sam's hands off the table… but he resisted the urge and just smiled. 'Because, Sam, we care. And we don't want to see you in pain. Why would we want that?'

'Well fuck knows! But why would you be so fucking different to anyone else? No one's ever fucking made me something different before… and if they do it's just a fucking cheese sandwich which's likely laced with sleeping pills. That's fucking why? What's in it for you? Why are you being nice to me? What have I got that you want? Or is it just the money they pay you to have me living here? Is that all it is? Am I just a number on your bank statement? Is that all I fucking well am to you!' Sam now stood; his usual pale face had livid red marks on each cheek.

'You want to know why we foster children?' John asked quietly as he picked up his fork. 'I had a brother. Paul. When he was fifteen he got in with a bad crowd. He did some very wrong things and got into trouble for it. He knew that the police were going to be looking for him and so he ran away from home to try to avoid it. He got into more trouble. Started taking drugs. Then when he was seventeen he tried to hold up a small gas station. He didn't get very far… the man who worked there had a knife and he stabbed Paul in the heart. I don't think he meant to kill my kid brother but he did. I should have helped my brother. I should have listened to him. I should have pulled him aside and told him that what he was doing was wrong. I doubt he would have listened to me, but he may have.'

'I'm like a penance for you, to ease your guilt?' Sam sat back down again. 'That's OK.' He pulled the plate over and started to eat. 'I've done some _really_ bad shit.' He talked with his mouth full and spat bits of sausage over the table. 'You know, stuff I shouldn't have done. Will you forgive me like you forgave your brother? Is there a place in your heart to forgive me?'

Sally and John gave a quick glance at each other and then smiled. 'Everyone can be forgiven. You just need to ask God. It's not up to us. We are just here to give you a nice place to stay and keep you safe and make sure that you're happy.'

'And talk to me like I'm a kid? I've probably done more in my life than you've ever dreamed of, so mind how you talk to me. Don't piss me off.' Sam stuffed more sausage into his mouth. 'And as for God? Well, I'm not one of his, so there's not point in asking him to forgive me. I bat for the other team. God has no influence over my soul.' Sam stabbed at his food with annoyance. 'Not that I have a soul… you see? You can see that though… that makes sense doesn't it? You can only go to heaven if you have a soul. Animals and stuff, well they don't have one and so they don't go there. Nor do I. I have no soul… Does it notice?' Sam stood up and walked to the bin and spat some food out. 'Is there any pudding?' Sam's eyes drifted to the window and back to John.

They played cards for a while as they let their food go down. They played a game which involved a tiny bit of gambling. They used candy wrapped in silver and gold paper. Sam won it all. He pushed it all back over the table and told them that he'd cheated. 'That's one of the bad things I do. I count cards. It's very easy. I can also read people. I know when they lie to me… at least when they're bluffing. You're easy to read. I can see the way you shuffle your arses and pick at your ears.' Sam then got up and walked back to the kitchen where he offered to do the dishes which were stacked up ready. Sally said it would be great for some help and thanked him. She said it would be _brilliant_ if he washed and she dried and so with that settled Sam ran hot water into the bowl and chucked in the dishes. Sally winced. She was sure some of that stuff was going to come out cracked or broken, but Sam was trying to please and she wasn't going to make him look like he wasn't. Sam didn't mind the boiling hot water. It made his hands go very red, but he didn't think to add cold. He watched Sally out of the corner of his eyes though… oh yes he watched the bitch carefully.

'You know you could have just said.' Sam stood there with a plate in one hand and a dish in the other. Again his eyes had narrowed.

Sally tried to smile, but this posture he kept taking felt very threatening. 'What do you feel I should have said?'

'That I put things in the wrong fucking place. You ungrateful fucking cunt!' The dish and plate were hurled at the wall. Sam spat out another curse and walked from the room. He stomped up the stairs, flew into this room and flounced dramatically onto his bed. He knew it. They hated him. They were trying to belittle him and make him look stupid. It wasn't going to work! It wasn't going to fucking well work! He got off the bed, seeing that no one had come running after him… shouted down the stairs that he hated them and they were both cunts and then slammed his door and lay on his bed and waited. He counted slowly to thirty seven before there was a light tap on the door. He asked in a snappy peeved voice who it was… it was John.

Sam knew it. He had known this would happen. He slipped off the bed and started to undo his jeans… 'Come in then.' He sighed and was just pushing his underwear down over his thighs as John opened the door and stood staring for a while.

'I knocked.' John muttered. 'Sorry Sam.' And he turned his back to leave.

'Well don't you want me? Isn't that why you're here? Don't you want to stuff your dick up me?'

John kept his back to Sam. 'No Sam. I came here to ask you to pick up the mess you made and to apologise to Sally.'

Sam stood ready for the action he'd been expecting with a frown on his face. 'You what? You don't want me? Why not? Look at me? What's wrong with you? Why don't you want me? I'm fucking perfection! Everyone wants to fuck me.'

Still with his back to Sam John spoke softly. He could tell this was going to be a struggle and he wondered if Sam would be better off somewhere with all women, but then again… 'There is nothing wrong with you, Sam. I just consider you to be a youth, and I don't find the male body attractive. I don't want to molest you.'

Sam started to pull his clothes back up again. 'Do you fuck Sally?'

'That's private, Sam. You shouldn't ask questions like that.' Still he had his back to the lad who had rubbed hard heat over him when he came home from work. He felt completely revolted by it. It made his stomach heave. Did Sam think all men were like this?

'Did your father rape you?' Sam now asked and this time John turned around… he was much relieved to see that Sam was fully covered and dressed again.

'Of course not. My father loved me.'

'If he loved you he'd screw you.' Sam told him.

'Absolutely not. My father was a very gentle and very loving man. He'd never touch me like that.' John walked to Sam and sat on the edge of his bed. 'Did your father touch you places he shouldn't?'

Sam gave John a sideways look. 'Are there such places?' He moved so that he could pull his feet up onto the bed. 'When you are spawned you automatically become the property of the person who spawned you. They have rights over you. If he wants to hit me or bed me, what can I do about it? I have to do what he tells me or he'll beat me and rape me anyway.'

John tried again. 'Did your father rape you?'

Sam smiled. 'No… he asked and I let him. Iolanda… now that mother fucker, he raped me, but not Floyd. Floyd is my… well he spawned me, so anything he does is his right. It's not possible for him to rape _me_ because I would always want that from him because I like being fucked up my arse.'

John opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he spoke quietly. 'Sam, it's wrong for anyone to touch you where you would normally have covered with clothing. Wrong. I'd not touch you there and nor would Sally and not because we don't like you but because we _do_. You need to learn that love doesn't come in that way. Love is kindness and respect. Not abuse.'

'Fucking isn't abuse.' Sam countered. 'I like it. It makes me feel good. It makes my head spin and my dick hard and hot. How can that be wrong? I don't understand your reasoning. Yes I know that when you're a kid it's wrong, because it really fucking hurts when some old bastard rips into your arsehole when you're a nipper, but I'm old enough now for that not to be a problem, so why can't I do that? Why is it so wrong? Are you a homophobe or something? Is it because I like it anal, cos I like fucking girls too. Either way… all's good! And I have no gag reflex.'

John stood and walked to the door. All of this had to be written down. He had to keep a record of things like this. Sam had very obviously been abused from a very early age. He thought it normal. He thought it was love. 'Sam, do you remember your last name? Do you remember Iolanda's last name, or maybe this Floyd person?'

'I'm Sam Trent-Saviour, Iolanda _is_ his last name – It's Louis Iolanda and Floyd's last names are either Flanders or Franks… depending on who's just arrested him. I need to find him because I will die if I'm not returned and I have an fucking awful feeling that he's going to die without me… there's something missing… and he's dead already I believe so you'll not find him, but you might find Spencer? Dr Reid? He's a Fed. Can you find him for me?'

This was a lot of information for John to remember. He nodded slowly and suggested that Sam took a nice long soak in the tub and he'd come back later and they could talk again. And that was just fine with Sam.

o-o-o

Spencer awoke on the floor of the apartment. He couldn't smell anything because his nose was blocked with sticky blood. He lay and listened and heard nothing for a while and then slowly looked around. There was nothing there to see, but his own place and smears and splatters of blood. Floyd had gone. There was a muddy smear on the couch and another on the coffee table. It was the only real hard evidence that Floyd had been there at all… that his hadn't been some kind of weird dream where he'd woken up feeling beaten and maybe raped. Slowly he got to his feet and equally slowly he walked to the bathroom, keeping his hands on the wall to keep his balance. Well… he had doubted that had been Floyd, he didn't now. He stood looking at his naked body in the full length bathroom mirror and a sad smile spread over his face. The good old familiar bruises were back. The finger marks on his hips and the scratches on his chest and his lower abdomen… It was Floyd… but where the hell was he now?


	6. Chapter 6

6

Floyd mugged a young woman who was just about to get out of her car. OK… it wasn't a mugging so much as he tore at her through the part open car window and ripped her out in bits… She was dead long before she realised that someone had walked with such manic speed up to her window. She didn't even know that a hand had slipped through that eight inches of open window. She never even felt the way her arm was ripped from her shoulder… and by the time her skull was crushed as it was smacked over and over again on the inside of the window as Floyd attempted to get it out of the FUCKING CAR – YOU FUCKING WHORE!...

Floyd really didn't get that much blood on him. Just that one hand and part of his arm. It was a job well done, if not a bit frustrating to see brains mixing with the now shattered glass of the driver's side window. He took the arm though and concealed it beneath his coat and he walked out of the parking lot and down to where he'd found somewhere to stay the night.

A lovely place it was too. And free! There was a corpse laying under some old newspapers but it was a new death and it hadn't started to smell yet. Floyd thought that he might move on, when it did, or maybe he'd just stay and burn it in one of the dumpsters just down the way. This place had all the mod cons a mad man would want. There was a pile of two blankets to lay on or wrap around him self at night. There was a leaking water pipe which drip drip fucking dripped all the fucking time! But there was also a small bowl set under it… running water. Great stuff. There was a drain in the middle of the floor. It had a big black metal grill over it and it was the perfect place to piss and crap out the day's food. Perfect. There was one way in here, through slightly warped metal door and there were no windows.

Floyd sat on the blankets in this small six foot square room and chowed down on the arm he'd torn from some tart. He had a feeling that someone might report that, but they'd never be able to implicate him in it. They'd not even think to look for him in connection for something like that, because he was dead.

'I love being dead.' Floyd said as he spat out a bit of sinew. 'They're going to be running in fucking circles… arseholes.'

The drain was something of deep interest to Floyd. He could spend many a second laying on the damp floor and looking into the watery inky darkness. It was going to be a good place to get rid of his scraps. Floyd thought that once the bum under the paper had been disposed of (Floyd couldn't eat it… nasty very diseased creature it was) he might bring Spencer here. It was only fair. Share and share alike.

Somewhere over the constant dripping was a thrumming sound from machinery. It was like a strange lullaby or maybe like the sound of your mother's heart as you lay your head on her chest when being comforted. It was a good sound. It calmed Floyd's burning brain. For a while it stopped the constant twitching and that feeling that his head was on backwards. It stopped him from shouting at his foot with the toe missing and demanding where his toe was. It stopped him from wanting to reach into his own chest and pull out the heart which wasn't his and was working very well, but just wasn't the right one. It felt as though it belonged to someone who needed love and security and peace and quiet and Floyd's brain didn't want or need any of that SHIT… He pulled diamond ring off the finger of the whore and threw it down the drain. He scraped his teeth over the bone of her forearm and tore off the small remaining bits of flesh with teeth which ached.

Floyd smashed bone on the floor and sucked out what little marrow there was. He then slid the slithers of stuff down the drain, keeping just one bit back for himself to hold as he curled up into the blankets, but firstly he moved the corpse, just a bit. He wanted to look at the dead man's face flickering and jumping in the candle light as he pressed that bit of bone against the side of his face. He wanted to look into those dead, open eyes and imagine what he'd do to the thing if it hadn't been so diseased.

'With death comes comfort. Your life is extinguished and with that the rats and lice on your body and in your blood die too. Thus, I am as pure as the driven snow. I can do no wrong. I am pure and perfect in my death as are you.' He spoke to the dead man and crawled the few feet between them. 'So that disease which was eating you away… gone? This means… It means that I think I'm going to curl up with you tonight and love you in the most pure way a man can love another man… be he dead or alive. There's no divide there really.' Floyd dragged the man into position and laid down behind him. 'The dead can fuck the dead.' Floyd told this person as he licked the back of the neck. There were deep purple marks on his skin where the blood had settled. 'I will kill Spencer if he doesn't do what is expected of him. I will show him. He needs to fess up to his crimes… don't you think? He needs to convince me that Sam's passing… you think he's dead huh? You think so? I'm not so sure. Sam wouldn't give up because he was battered and cold. Sam would find something… he's a good, good boy… just like you. I love a lovely compliant fuck.'

o-o-o

Sally and John slept with their backs to each other. Their spines brushing almost tenderly, but that was the only part of them which touched. John had told his lovely caring wife what Sam had done and said. Sally had sniffled and said what a poor young man he was and wondered if there really was anything which they could do for him. In whispered tones they discussed safety issues because John was concerned about accusations and Sally was worried about Sam breaking things and being violent. They decided in the end to see how things went. They decided to give Sam a chance. Give him gentle voices and guidance. He might learn to relax and he might learn what is right and not right to say. They didn't write down all Sam had told them. Yes they recorded that Sam had been horribly abused from a young age and they recorded his inability to see what is inappropriate behaviour. They even said that Sam seemed scared of everything and needed constant reassurance. They didn't report that Sam told them his real name or the name of Iolanda or this Floyd person. If questioned later John said he'd say that he misunderstood what Sam was babbling on about.

They genuinely wanted the chance to help him. He was going to be a challenge and it was going to be a rough ride, but Sally needed to nurture and John needed Sally to be happy… and having a new face in the home was a distraction from the shitty time he was having at work.

At just after ten in the morning, Sam joined Sally again in the kitchen. He was wearing a towel around his waist… around his hips… only just. One quick move and the towel would be around his ankles. He shuffled in with his hair dripping down his slightly bent back and sunken chest and flopped onto the chair he'd sat on the day before.

'Fancy something to eat?'

Sam shook his head and pushed some grains of sugar around the table. 'You hate me don't you?' Sam had woken up feeling lost and sorry for himself. He had woken up feeling the need to be hugged and pulled close and kissed in little spiteful or maybe even gentle kisses. He wanted desperately to be touched and wanted and probed.

Sally brought over coffee and she brought over a pack of Pall Mall and a small ash tray. She placed them on the table with a green plastic cigarette lighter. 'I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly hate you, Sam. We are still getting to know each other.'

Sam cocked his head to one side and pulled out a smoke. He lit it and drew in a lovely lung of air. 'It's not a good idea to get to know me. People tend to go missing or die when they get too close to me. It wont be tolerated. He wont allow it.' He now sipped on the coffee. 'But I need to feel wanted, Sally… and I just… well…' He gestured around the kitchen. 'It's a lovely house and all, but it's not my home. There's nothing of mine here.' Now he picked up the lighter. 'Not even this. This house has your smells and your things. There's nothing of mine.'

Sally nodded. She already had that covered though. 'I have been given an allowance. They are aware that you have nothing of your own and we can't give you what you've lost… you know that don't you? I can't give you back what you've lost, but I can take you shopping and we can go and get you some new things. Things which you feel comfortable with. New clothes, shoes…'

Sam's eyes lit up and then seemed to cloud over again. 'I can't go shopping. Can we shop online? He's out there still. I can almost smell him wafting under the doors, but he can't get in. So please? Can I shop online?'

So She gave Sam a maximum amount to spend. She instructed him to get as much as he could with the money. She said shirts, pants, underwear, socks, sleep ware, hats, coats… anything and everything he wanted or needed… Just go for it!

And Sam did. Sally left him alone for half an hour and then went back to see how he was doing. Now it was Sally who narrowed her eyes as she looked over Sam's shoulder at the shopping basket icon on the screen and the list of things under it. Strawberry flavoured condoms, butt plugs (different types and sizes), lube, anal beads, masks, cock rings – a huge and terrifying looking Prostate Massager, douches and nipple clips… Sally looked through the things again and the names of DVDs Sam had picked out. 'I said clothing.' She muttered.

'Yeah.' Sam said sadly. 'But can't I have at least some of this stuff too. I mean if no one here is going to fuck me then I'll need to relieve myself some other way.'

'Clothes.' Sally repeated. She leaned over Sam's shoulder and clicked the page away. 'We should go and look in the shops. It will be good for you to get out in the fresh air and this Iolanda wont do anything all the time you're with me. So… what do you say? Come get some clothes and if all goes well and we get what you need then, and only then can you have a small selection of things from there. But Sam, really… no one needs that sort of thing. You're very young to need that.'

Sam sighed. He was going to have to play her game to get any thing back. It stank but she might have been right. 'I guess. But don't diss the butt plug until you've tried it and I don't think you have. There's an offer there for two for the price of one… we can get one each. I'll show you how to use it to get the most…' His voice trailed off at the look on Sally's face. 'Was that something else I shouldn't talk about? Shit! I can't talk about any fucking thing can I?' He sighed and turned the computer off. 'You win! You win! I'll go to the fucking shops with you. Fucking hell… how does John put up with your bitching! No wonder he goes to work… I'd get a job too to get away from this constant barrage of demands.' Sam crossed his arms over his chest. 'I like to cross dress sometimes.' He added just for the pure delight of it.

It wasn't a constant barrage and Sam knew that, but it didn't seem to matter what buttons he pressed on this woman, she didn't get irked by it. Which in turn puzzled Sam. People usually shouted at him and threw things at him. They lashed out to keep him quiet and they called his filthy names, but this Sally didn't. This Sally woman hadn't raised her voice and hadn't slapped him… even though he'd stepped over that invisible line a few times now…

The odd thing was that the less they reacted the less he felt like pushing it. He had a feeling that even if he behaved like a real arsehole that dinner would still be provided. A bed would be there for him and he'd not be tied to it. It wouldn't matter if he called them whores and cunts because they ignored it… and it's no fun talking to someone like that if they ignore the bad language – filter it out and only react to the actual meaning of what he was trying to say. So yeah… he would go shopping with her and he'd try her patience and see how it went from there.

'I don't like crowds.' He told her. 'And I don't like it when I don't feel safe.'

'You're with me.' Sally placed a hand on Sam's arm. 'I've been here most days of my adult life and nothing's gone wrong yet. Stay with me and you're going to be just fine. No shouting, throwing things and making others feel bad… and it wont happen back to you.'

Well that was a fucking lie. Sam knew that much and he'd bloody well prove it! Just let her see how nasty people are… let her see how he's picked on without mercy. Let her see that.

o-o-o

Spencer spent much of that day in bed. He curled up hugging his pillow and ignored the outside world for now. He didn't sleep so much as drift off occasionally. He didn't want to sleep. He couldn't sleep. He had to listen out for someone coming to his door again. Spencer had to be ready for him. He's slathered ointment in various places inside and out and though it numbed the actual physical pain, the emotional pain was still there. He needed Floyd, but _this_ Floyd? He wasn't so sure about that. What he'd said about his heart not being buried with him, that bothered Spencer. Rossi had sworn to him that everything recovered was handed over for burial and Rossi had lied to him. Whether that was because Rossi thought Spencer couldn't handle the actual facts or if it was just a flat out lie, Spencer didn't know, but he intended to find out. Rossi was now the only person he trusted and if the man had lied to him…

Spencer shuddered under his bed covers and then slipped out of the bed, he pulled on a house coat and put on a pair of grey sensible slippers and then rummaged through his bag for his cell phone. He used speed dial and stood shivering in the hallway listening to his phone ringing.

'Reid.' A sharp and slightly impatient tone.

'I need to talk to you.' Spencer told him.

'Do you know what time it is? Can't this wait?'

Spencer didn't know what the time was. He'd not looked at the clock, but… 'No, it can't wait.' He told his former friend.

There was a deep sigh and the sound of someone moving around. Spencer thought maybe Rossi had been in bed. 'Make it quick.' Dave said.

Spencer took in a deep breath. Now he had Dave on the phone he wasn't sure how he was going to ask this. 'Dave, when you helped me to arrange the funeral…' Spencer heard an irritated sniff of breath. '… you told me that… you said…' This was hard to say… it hurt Spencer to say this. He didn't like to think of what had happened. '…you said that all parts… you told me that everything recovered was placed… that we buried…'

'That's right.' But the words sounded questioning now. 'We've gone over this before I think.'

Spencer's turn for that sharp intake of breath. 'What about his heart and liver?'

And a deathly silence. Spencer could hear Dave breathing on the other end of the line. He could almost hear the ticking of his brain as he thought of excuses. 'Everything available was handed over for burial.' Dave spoke quietly now.

'And what about his heart and liver? I know that they were recovered at the scene. I need to know… were they buried?'

'This isn't the time to talk about this, Spencer. I'll come round to see you. I'll talk to you about…'

'You lied!' Spencer shouted to his ex-friend. 'You told me…'

'Everything available is what I told you. Spencer, you have to understand that I don't have control over things like that. They kept… they wanted to do tests.'

'You son of a bitch!' Spencer spat down the phone. 'You lied to me! How? Why? Where did…'

The phone went dead. Dave was in no mood to listen to Spencer having a rant. He'd never heard him swear like that before and he was obviously upset, but why ask this now? What had made him think that some parts had been kept back? He had no idea. Maybe Spencer just had one of his hunches, but Dave wasn't going to lose sleep over it. It wasn't unusual for this to happen. Parts of Floyd had ended up in the stomach of the dogs. Why was _this_ such a problem all of a sudden. Dave turned off his bedside light and went back to sleep. He slept well. He felt no guilt over it. Spencer was lucky _any_ of Floyd had been returned for burial. What the hell did he expect?

Spencer seethed and paced. He had no connections he could call and ask about this and he wanted and needed something to tell Floyd when he returned. He had to have answers for him. He paced around his lounge, checked the tape on the locks and eventually sat down carefully and had a smoke. He would go round and talk to Dave face to face and get more answers that way, but his own face was a battered ruin right now. His right eye was puffed up and the lid hardly open. It had turned a deep dark purple colour. His nose was swollen across the bridge and Spencer had carefully prodded it to see if it had was broken and stopped when the pain made his eyes water. His top lip was swollen and his bottom lip was split and scabbed over down the middle. He had finger mark bruises across his jaw and neck… that was just the places someone would see if he walked in a room fully dressed. The bruises and marks popping up over his skin elsewhere were both terrifying, remarkable… and a bit, but just a bit, wonderful. This was the Floyd he used to be so scared of. This was the Floyd he'd never raise his hand to. This was the Floyd who could drag him from place to place over the eggshells he had to walk on when around him. This Floyd was unbalanced to the extreme. You couldn't look him in the eyes. You couldn't reach out and touch him unless he'd been given orders to do that. This Floyd, funnily enough, was what Spencer had missed so much. He terrified and aroused him at the same time. He sat on his chair now and picked at scabs on his arms and wondered if Sam had been eaten by wild animals in the forest, or if he was defrosting now that the snows had finally left, or if Sam had spent the winter hiding somewhere… would he suddenly walk on through the door with his little tight jeans and silver eye shadow wondering why everyone was so worried about him? That was of course if anyone _was_ worried about him. Floyd's obsession with needing to know where Sam was was because Floyd felt as though part of him was missing if Sam wasn't within striking range and Spencer thought that his own obsession with Sam was because he wanted to show Floyd that he could get along with him… that he could like him… but now things had changed again. He didn't have to prove to Floyd that he loved him by showing Sam attention… what he had to do now was to locate the missing body parts. Garcia might be his way in there.

Spencer frowned and scratched and pinched at his arms. That's what he'd do. He'd contact Garcia. At least he would be able to tell Floyd that he'd _tried_ even if he'd failed.

'I'm sorry, Spencer.' That's what Garcia had said. 'It's not that I don't want to tell you.'

She was not going to tell him. She knew and was keeping it from him. It was probably not worth the risk to tell him anything. She wasn't allowed to discuss things like that. Spencer wasn't part of that little team any more. He was the outsider. 'Can you at least tell me where they aren't?'

He asked… he used his sad voice on her; his pathetic voice. 'It's not like I can do anything about it, but I'd still like to know. It would be closure.' He lied to her. He hated to lie to her… but sometimes you just had to.

'Spencer you know I can't tell you things like that.' She sighed and sounded sad. She sounded like she wanted to help.

Reid ground his teeth in annoyance. He picked on a loose threat on a button on his house coat until the small padded red thing fell off and dropped to the floor. 'Is it so secret? I love him Pen.' He shuddered in a breath.

He could hear her clicking the top of a pen in and out… in and out… and he could see her in his mind's eye sitting there fidgeting and wanting to tell him everything. 'I know, sweetcheeks. I know. I understand, really do, but…' She paused and Spencer now heard the clatter of keys… her long fingernails working over the keyboard. 'Do you remember, a few years ago now – we all went out for a drink together. We had a great night didn't we, Spencer?' He listened to her voice and he heard the words but what did they have to do with anything. 'Can you remember the name of that bar we ended up in? The one that only had pink straws and Derek wouldn't have one in his drink? Can you…?'

'I remember.' Spencer sighed. He still had no idea what his had to do with anything.

'Fun times.' Garcia whispered to him. 'Before things… before all this… this junk.'

'For you maybe.'

'Well… Maybe you should pay that bar another visit. Get some cobwebs out of your head? Take a walk from that big burger joint just down the road. It's a short walk.'

'Thank Pen.' Spencer muttered.

'You should. I'll go with you if you want. Do you want?'

'No Pen.'

'But you should go. _Really_ you should go. There's some good window shopping to be done down there and a few… well… interesting buildings. I have to get back to work. Give me a call if you want company. I'm happy to join you.'

Reid thanked her and hung up. He stood looking at the telephone for a while and wondered if one of the reasons Floyd hated them so much was because you couldn't smell the other person? You couldn't sniff out the lies… you couldn't read body posture. It seemed odd that Pen was telling him to go to a bar he'd only been to once in his life. Oddly… it was in a part of the city he rarely visited. It was maybe… too clean? He was used to jumping at shadows and having whores call out to him. He was used to the seedy grey and dark areas of the city, the bar Pen was talking about was in a very _straight_ area… really not somewhere he'd go alone… but maybe that was the point. Maybe he should go there and mix and not have to push whores away from himself all night… not have small and large hands drift over him _by accident_. It might feel relaxing.

o-o-o

Sam smoked in the car. Sally didn't stop him but she pressed the window button and let in some air… she then pulled over and tried to speak calmly to a screaming kicking Sam. He didn't want the window open, that much was clear, but the tantrum? He was like a child. Why couldn't he just say what was wrong.

'Fine. The window is shut, but that means you cannot smoke.' It seemed fair to her.

'Fuck you!' Sam lit up again. 'It calms my nerves.' He told her waggling it under her nose.

'I can tell.' She snapped back. She didn't mean to snap, but damn…

'You fucking old bitch.' Sam snarled at her…

And she was suddenly seeing that side of Sam which made her skin crawl. 'I don't like being talked to like that. We are out on a trip to buy you some things… it's meant to be nice. Can you try to remember that?'

'Do you have any idea what will happen if we pull up with the window open and Iolanda is there? He will tear me out of the car and eat me there on the sidewalk. Windows stay closed and I will smoke because it keeps me calm and you might well think that this is meant to be nice but frankly woman, I'm scared out of my fucking brains being out here in the open and the situation isn't going to improve when I'm in some fucking shopping mall surrounded by people looking at me and eyeing me and spitting at me. I'm freaking out here and you're going to have to give me some space and stop bitching at me. I'm doing my fucking best, but I'm not going to put my life in mortal peril because you don't like me smoking. Got it? Understand?'

She wiped the sweat off her upper lip and nodded slowly. 'Well can I have my window open a bit? Just a few inches maybe?'

'NO!' Sam kicked the dashboard. 'No, no no!'

She didn't bother asking about the sun roof. She did turn on the air conditioning though and hoped it would just suck the smoke away. This was going to be fun. She could tell that.

They were in the mall for nearly two hours before they were told by security to leave. In that time they'd been thrown out of four stores, one because Sam called the assistant a cunt… one because he peed in the changing rooms, one because he threatened the petite girl behind the counter because she looked at him funny and finally because he hit a young man around the face and told him to go fuck himself.

Sam wasn't allowed to go into the store which sold sexy (sleazy) female undergarments and he wasn't permitted in the shop which only sold sex toys. They managed to buy a book without too much trouble and they had a bag with a couple of pairs of jeans and some _odd_ things which Sam had insisted on getting. She couldn't see that Sam would be wearing much of the stuff he wanted. He got his nails done… filed and painted green. He asked about getting his hair cut and then freaked when he was told to sit at the basins to get his hair washed. He accused them of trying to strangle him with the plastic protective cape and then called the man who was going to have the pleasure of cutting Sam's mop of hair _a dirty fucking faggot who doesn't wash his hands after he sticks his fingers up his twink's arse_ … they weren't actually told to leave, but Sally dragged the spitting cursing Sam out of the place before blood was drawn.

'You see what I fucking well mean? Everyone hates me!'

He was right. The world hated Sam… and for a very good reason. He was the most vile and disgusting person she'd ever had the misfortune to spend her afternoon with. He had a new pair of hightop converse and some chunky pink boots. He bought make up and hair products. He got some little hair slides and he bought a pack of jock straps. Then they were escorted back to the car where Sam lit up before he got in it and stood looking over the side of the wall of the car park. He could see over the city from where he stood and he could see the roofs of some of the buildings around them. It would have been awesome if Sam wasn't so bloody mad with everyone.

'We need to get home.' Sally spoke from the car.

'It's not my home.' Sam muttered.

'Can you please get in the car and get out of here before I have to call the cops.' Security asked.

'Go stuff your attitude up your arse.' Sam told him, but he complied after throwing the half smoked cigarette at the man. He slid back into the car, slammed the door closed, made sure it was locked and burst into hard snot filled sobs. It seemed that he'd exhausted himself with his cursing and attitude that day. He cried all the way home and then went to his room and left his bag of goodies in the car for Sally to bring in. It had been a disaster and next time she would allow Sam to order things off the internet, but she also wanted to explain some home truths to his horrible little person while he was still in a state of exhaustion and she still had the balls to approach him about his behaviour. He wanted to be treated like an adult but he played up and acted like a small child needing attention… he seemed unable to stop himself from saying what he was thinking. There had to be a medical reason. Maybe he needed to see a doctor and not for his mental state (which in her mind was so over the place that it wasn't possible to put a finger on the actual problem) but for actual physical things wrong with him. Find out about his eye… see if he had brain damage… there had to be a reason for this.

She took his things up to his room. The door was open and she could hear his sobbing. 'I've brought your things up.' She said from the doorway. 'Do you want to talk about what happened?'

Sam pushed up onto his elbows. 'You saw them. You saw how people talk to me and treat me.' He whined.

'Maybe if you didn't swear at everyone? It puts them in a defensive mood. They don't like that. We'll go somewhere less busy next time?'

'Oh fuck off. Go play with yourself. You don't understand.'

She dropped the bags just inside his room, closed his door and went down to prepare dinner. She felt like crying too. Not because of what Sam had done but because he'd worn her out and there were a few places in her local mall that she'd never be able to go back to. She would contact someone tomorrow and tell them that Sam needed more help than she could offer him. She thought even of telling them that she knew his name now. Get him sent back to where he came from… Though that hurt her own self pride in being able to sort out the most difficult of teens… Sam was beyond help.

o-o-o

Spencer took the car out that day. He drove slowly down to where Pen had suggested and parked the car up. He walked on slightly shaking legs down to the burger place and stood looking down the road towards where the bar was. He knew that Garcia had told him to come here for a reason and that reason was glaring at him in the face. SHEERWATER. That's what the sign said. He stood staring at the sign which stood out above a large office building. They were specialists in genetic testing… they had floors and floors of labs. How the devil they got hold of parts of Floyd he didn't know and he had no idea how Floyd would get back what he needed, but he could almost feel the pull. He walked quickly back to the car with a churning lump of lead in his stomach.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Spencer was standing behind the couch with a mug coffee in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other, when the locks on his door started to move. Spencer raised his eyebrows at it. There was no point in running. Either it was Floyd and he would be able to tell him that he thought he knew where his missing body parts were, or it was Iolanda, in which case there was no point in running… he was as good as dead.

The door swung open and Spencer looked down his dim hallway to the door. The light shining from the passageway behind made the person in the doorway a dark menacing silhouette – and he still couldn't really tell who it was. The door slammed and the person who had been standing there seemed to teleport in one swift move to be standing in front of Spencer, spitting out his fetid breath onto Spencer's face.

'What's going on?' It was Floyd and he had a look of both anger and puzzlement on his face. 'Why are you not in bed sleeping?'

Spencer placed the mug down on one of Floyd thinly sliced stone coasters and he placed the cigarette in a large pottery ash tray. 'I was hoping you'd show up.' Spencer wanted to reach out and touch this man who was only inches away from him, but he dared not.

'You've located Sam? Please tell me that you have. I think it would be the only thing to make me feel good about things right now. I think that would be the only thing to stop me from having to hurt you.' His head did that odd tick, and he curled his lips at Spencer in a snarl… showing nasty teeth… not the lovely white teeth which should be there.

Spencer remained silent for now. He'd not found Sam. He'd not even thought about looking for Sam. He'd slowly taken on the same stance as Rossi on this one and he wasn't sure when it happened or why. 'Floyd, we are not going to find Sam.'

'Spencer, you've not even looked.' Floyd placed a finger on Spencer's bare chest. 'And I'd ask you why you're standing there in just your boxers but I'm not going to bother. I can't smell man juice on you and you don't stink like sex. Why've you not bothered looking for Sam? Why are you not packed with your hiking boots on and a compass in your grubby tit squeezing hand? Why are you not slinging your backpack over your shoulder right now and telling me that you were just about to do that, because you _know_ that's what I want. Sam… that darling little bit of light at the end of the darkness.' The finger jabbed and turned and the fingernail dug in slightly and now Spencer stopped looking at the dirt encrusted hand and he dared to almost look Floyd in the eyes.

'I think…'

And the finger moved and became a fist which found Spencer's solar plexus and took him to his knees easier than if someone had shot him. He made the usual gasping, sobbing, gagging sounds as he pulled air back into his lungs. He wanted to ask why Floyd had done that, but it was because of Sam. Because he had let Sam down and was still letting him down. Spencer peered up at Floyd and now could see the filth and muck encrusted over his clothing. He could see the dark red edge of cuff just showing beneath Floyd's coat. He had to get him out of those clothes and get them washed. If anyone turned up and… Damn… would it matter if anyone saw him in this state? After all the man was dead and buried and some of his internals were in a lab downtown.

'You see, Babes, this is where your thinking has gotten you to. On your knees begging me not to pulverise me. But please don't let that stop you from thinking of a reason why I'd not.' Floyd knelt down in front of Spencer and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Don't look so worried… things might have changed, but I still don't really want you dead. At least not yet. What was it you were thinking about though? It must have been _very_ interesting to put your life at risk like that.'

Spencer's tongue found that place on his bottom lip where Floyd had mashed it against the floor. He didn't think he could take another smacking like that tonight. He had to be very careful what he said and how he said it. 'The people who know where your heart is are not in the position to tell me. I can't get that sort of information.' He watched something slither over the back of Floyd's eyes. It was like something watching from inside of Floyd's head… He'd seen something like that before and it didn't end well that time. He didn't think it was going to end well this time either. 'However, I was told to go to a certain place and go for a walk.'

'What? So you took a stroll by the river?'

'No. I took a walk down town. I took the route I was told to take and there right in front of me… Sheerwater.'

'Sheerwater?' Floyd sat back on his heels and looked at Spencer's hands… They twisted in panic almost as though they were trying to get away from him and scuttle across the floor and escape.

'It's a private company which has a speciality field in genetics. They have labs there.' Spencer was now looking everywhere other than at Floyd's eyes. He didn't want to see that thing behind them again and he didn't want to see that smooth mercurial thing solidify.

'So how did parts of me get to be in a private lab? I'd understand if I was being held in some – I dunno – Federal Freezer – or some such but a private company? Someone purchased bits of me? Someone _sold_ bits of me? There has been financial gain over my death?' Floyd sounded both amused, shocked, horrified and repulsed by it. 'Who the fuck would do that? Who would have the authority to do that?'

Spencer was slowly shaking his head though. 'Not necessarily sold.'

'Oh great – and here I was foolishly thinking that slavery had been abolished.'

He wanted to slap Floyd for being an oaf, but kept his twisting fingers resting there and cracking at his knuckles. 'As I would understand it, you are an unusual case. They would have done tests on what was originally found at the scene. They would have seen the oddities and they would have sent you – or parts of you – for testing. Now before you get angry with me, I was told that… That all of you had been returned for burial. I had no idea. It wasn't as though I could go through a list of things.'

A hand rested on Spencer's twisting hands. 'Stop that. Fucking stop that with your damned hands and then look at this.' Floyd dragged off one of his boots and now sitting back on his backside placed a very dirty, scabby, blistered foot on Spencer's lap.

He sat there looking at what Floyd was showing him and for a while he couldn't see what it was other than the general filth and the vile stink. Then there it was. 'You have a toe missing.' Spencer gently touched the rough puckered scar where Floyd's little toe should be.

'You'd be right. Now if the dogs had it there would have been no problem because it would have been a natural process if you get my drift. Not that I want you to imagine my beautiful self being shat out of the rear end of a mutt, but there you go… this though is different. Someone took part of me as a souvenir. They purposefully detached it from my foot and had away with it.' Floyd now slapped Spencer's hand away from him. 'Don't touch me unless I tell you to fucking touch me. I don't know where your hands have been… I need to know who took my toe. That was the point of showing you. Not that you'd give fuck about what I need. I only DIED for you after all. Go and get the fuck dressed… I hate it when you look like you're begging for it.'

'Who would have cut your toe off? And Why?' Spencer edged back out of Floyd's reach and slowly got to his feet.

Floyd pulled his boot back on and also jumped to his feet. 'Anyone who was there… but I have my suspicions.'

Spencer side stepped towards where he had some clean laundry ready to take to the bedroom. He pulled out some old baggy jeans and a Tshirt. Not the sort of thing he'd normally wear for Floyd, but this wasn't _normal_ Floyd. 'Who do you suspect?'

Floyd though shook his head. 'It's against my primary principles in life to point an accusing finger at someone without proof. I will get that proof and then I'll kill the bastard and then I will tell you.'

The dry click of a swallow sounded from Spencer's throat. Floyd wasn't going to accuse someone of something? Well there was a first for everything he supposed. 'I understand.' He said as he pulled the yellow Tshirt over his head and smoothed it out over his aching stomach. 'Do you want a coffee?'

'No, no… no fucking coffee. Your coffee tastes like boiled shit. Get me something else. Wine maybe? You've some wine hidden away under the floorboards or something… and why are you back here anyway. We had set up home somewhere else. I thought you loved that place. The porch and all… what the fuck are you doing back in this pit?'

Now Spencer stood doing his little panicking dance… one foot then the other… scratching, pinching… eyes flickering anywhere but at Floyd. 'Well that was the very reason. I couldn't… I couldn't be there without you…'

'And Sam… me and Sam… you couldn't be there without Sam and I… I reckon that's what you really meant… or did I cut you off before you could mention Sam's name?'

'You and Sam… of course. I always think of you as a couple who go together and so when I say you, obviously I meant both of you. We were a family and it felt so empty with the pair of you gone…'

'Yet you didn't see fit to go look for him? What did you do apart from talk soft fucking arse achingly bad poetry over my mound?

Floyd saw it and he almost regretted what he'd said, but not quite. He saw Spencer's eyes widen and then sort of dew over. They went wet and Spencer blinked and down came the tears. 'I, I… I did… I did what I… what I thought… I did what I c, c, could… and Sam… and Sam was gone.'

'Aww… babes… don't cry on my behalf. The poetry was pure drivel, but the fact that you bothered to get your arse down there was nice I guess. Tell you though… your coffee really is only good to be thrown on the dead.' Floyd grabbed hold of Spencer's hand and lifted it to his face. He kissed each finger gently and ran his tongue over the back of Spencer's hand. 'Next time you'll know better though I guess? Next time you'll not waste your time on the dead, you'll go in search of the living. Which again brings me to the point… why are you here and not looking for Sam?'

Spencer looked down at his hand caught now in Floyd's. He could feel the lovely tingling from the kisses and he could see this own pathetic tears dropping and running off the end of his nose. 'The snow in that part of the world in the winter…'

Floyd squeezed on Spencer's hand… it hurt… it felt like the bones were going to crumble and he'd just be left with a fleshy bag full of broken painful twigs. 'You gave up on him.'

'I was sick! Floyd you have to understand that I wasn't even able to walk at first. I was in hospital. By the time I was well enough to come home and start looking for Sam the snows had fallen. I wouldn't have been able to track him. Rossi had people looking for him… he was gone. I don't know what you expected me to do! What was it I did so wrong? I never forgot you. I went to your grave and I told you how much I loved you. I need you in my life, but I can't find Sam for you. I want to say that I'm sorry, but you'll not accept that.'

'Damned right I wont fucking accept it! Get something on your feet. I want you to drive me to Sheerwater and then I'll show you where I live now.'

'Not here? You can come home… come back to me Floyd.' Spencer picked up sneakers and slipped his feet into them.

'Why would I want to live here? There's nothing here for me but your oppressive need to keep me under control. Get your keys and I'll drive.'

'No… I mean… Floyd if something happens and a dead man is driving…'

'Point taken… you drive. Things are likely to happen with me behind the wheel. It's like the world gangs up on me and throws pedestrians in front of the car just to piss me off. I guess it's a curse.' He winked at Spencer and then added. 'That was a joke by the way. You may now laugh and have no risk of me ripping your balls off.'

**a/n: Sorry just a short chapter today… **


	8. Chapter 8

8

_True love does not come by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly._

This was how Spencer was feeling as he walked down the passageway and then down the stairs, following Floyd to the underground parking lot. Yes Spencer was sure that he could see things crawling around in Floyd's hair, he could see the layers of filth over his clothing and the ground in surface dirt on Floyd's neck, next to the thicker almost mud-like dirt which had accumulated in the creases, but none of this mattered. What mattered to Spencer was that there were no new bruises on his own face. Floyd's thick dark hair had been chopped off shorter at the back than the sides and seemed to bounce and as the light caught it, it glowed in tiny wondrous prisms. He could smell that fantastic thick musky smell which followed Floyd everywhere and seemed to be able to control people just by inhaling it. He could see Floyd's hand holding the rail down the side of the stairs and he ignored the peel of grime under his nails and just looked at the shape of those hands, so perfect… so very perfect for anything and everything. He could hear the clip, clip sound of Floyd's worn down boot heels on the stairway tiles and as Floyd turned on the second landing Spencer couldn't help but draw in a deep long breath as he caught sight of Floyd's profile.

He stood in the sudden stillness and watched the dust motes and the patterns of light twirling on the wall and for a moment Spencer was immobilised. He saw Floyd slowly turn and now that profile was gone and replaced by Floyd's quizzical face.

'What's wrong?'

Was it that obvious that something was wrong? Spencer stepped down onto the same small turn in the stairs as Floyd and shook his head. 'Absolutely nothing. It was just the way the light… Floyd, tonight I will show you where I suspect they have what you're looking for and then I'm going to look for Sam.'

Floyd nodded, finger brushed his hair and stood staring at Spencer for a moment. 'Whatever emotions I felt for you have been ripped away. All I know is that you're a comfortable fuck. A good size. That's all. So if you're flirting with me, it's wasted. You don't want to assist me in searching for the thing which will maybe make your sluttish behaviour and that sweet stink of yours worth the effort, then don't. Probably best you don't anyway. You'd get caught, get shot or mutilated and then you'd not even have the option of selling yourself on the streets. For now, at least, try to concentrate on what you need to do. Stop eyeing me up and undressing me with your eyes. I have more important things to do…' Floyd grabbed his own groin in his hands now… '…than porking you.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow at Floyd and then raised the other to accompany it, just to make sure that Floyd saw the shock. 'Ah…' Spencer muttered and slipped his shaking hands into his pockets, because if Floyd had asked here and now on the stair well of his apartment block with the security cameras blinking in the corners… had Floyd asked or told Spencer to get on his knees there and perform a sexual act of any type, he would have done.

Floyd frowned at the expression of Spencer's face. 'I'm going to show you where I live before you run off looking for a corpse. Is that why there's no hurry? You expect Sam to have failed in the winter and to have collapsed in the freezing cold as his fingers and toes went numb and his heart began to grow ice crystals… you think that he couldn't light a fire and he lay there crying until his tears turned to ice and his weakened yet still beautiful body gave up and the snow covered him?'

Spencer nodded very slowly. 'I was convinced initially that he was still alive, but the more I think about it and the longer the winter carried on…'

Floyd licked his lips and brushed a hand over the front of Spencer's jeans. 'You're correct. If he's dead then there's no hurry. Show me this Sheerwater place and then I'll show you where I live… I need to figure out how to get into the damned place and find what's missing.'

'I hope that the damage they've done isn't…'

'Well, you see if you look it through my eyes, Babes… I can't remember rightly what it felt like when I had some kind of emotional tie to you. That's gone… so it doesn't matter to me one way or the other now. At first I was mighty riled by it. I felt his empty fucking place inside of me. It was like… I dunno… just like I was hungry… so ravenous that I'd eat anything to fill that empty place. Well, see… now I've filled it. I gorged. I threw up some and then I gorged again. I ate until I had puke running out of my nose; my stomach contents trying to escape as I stuffed more things into my stomach and then it was there! It was there in front of me Spencer… I was finally full again. That dead empty place was filled. It's not that I have to have what was taken from me and really what I need to do is tear this one out and devour the old, but… damnit… I'm rather enjoying life as it is.' He grabbed Spencer by the hand. 'Come… we can talk in the car.'

'You used to love me.' Spencer managed to mutter as they reached the car.

'I thought as much from the fucking poetry and tears, but if that's so then it's no longer reciprocated.'

'Is it a matter of having to get to know each other again?' Spencer unlocked the car door and pulled open the passenger side for Floyd.

'Love makes you weak. It puts you in a difficult position. If you love something more than you love yourself then there will be only trouble. After all hasn't all of this shit happened purely because of that? It started with Anthony….'

'Screw Anthony!' Spencer snapped at this new Floyd. 'I'm tired of hearing about how perfect he is. I've listened until I've thrown up.'

Now it was Floyd who raised his eyebrow. 'Thin ground… very thin… 'ware your mouth boy or I'll see to it that you never have a thought or opinion again. As I was saying – Iolanda screwed with me through Anthony… if that had never happened all that fucking long ago then we would never have been digging up bones.'

'So you're never going to love someone again because Iolanda got the better of you?'

'Not the better. He got some of me – I will admit that – but not the better of me. I survive because of these.' Floyd held up his hands. 'These are the best of me… and he failed to take them. More fool him. And for your information, I will never love in the sense you're babbling on about because I'm not capable of such. And I don't want to be capable of such.'

'But you will be once you are whole again.' Spencer moved to his side of the car and got in. He watched Floyd slide into the passenger seat and elbow down the door lock button.

'As I said, I feel whole again. This mission to recover my lost heart is pointless. It's more the liver I need.'

'Do you not love Sam?' Spencer asked as the car bumped over the small red and white painted ramp as they left the parking area.

'There's the thing. It's what separates the boys from the men, the angels from the mortals… I absolutely think I am a most marvellous and kick arse awesome creature and as Sam is basically me… then yes… I think he is too.'

Spencer pulled out into the traffic with a vague thought of just driving to a police station or Rossi's house and throwing Floyd out of the car. He could cope with the beatings if he thought that Floyd was doing it out of some misguided love, but now the man was rejecting him… and pushing him away. 'I _do_ love you.' Spencer muttered.

'Fucking liar. You're scared and angry… you think I'm going to kill you and leave you to rot in the gutter somewhere. And I might if you keep up with this line of interrogation. I don't love you… never will… I will beat and rape you and do what I want because for some screwed reason you are mine. You belong to me. I've bonded with you, but that's not love. That's possessiveness. That's not wanting someone else to have what I've got, but that's no different to suing someone for using your company name of letter headed paper now is it?'

Spencer's knuckles went white in the steering wheel. The joy of having Floyd back in his life was melting very fast. He wanted Sundays sitting at the kitchen table, eating eggs and bacon. He wanted to brew coffee and know it was exactly the way Floyd liked it. He wanted to be able to predict Floyd's thoughts and mood by the way his hands twitched or his posture or the turn of his head, but that was gone. 'What's wrong with my coffee?' He blurted out. 'You've never complained before.'

Floyd sat with a length of seat belt wrapped around his hand and the other hand clutching the side of the seat. He really was a bit of a nervous passenger. That at least hadn't changed and was sort of good for Spencer to see.

'Your coffee? Where did that suddenly spring from? Well to be totally honest with you, as I said, it tastes like boiled shit. I'd sooner drink fermented rino piss than suffer your attempts at coffee brewing. As there is no rino piss available – most of the time – I learnt to shut up and put up. I don't feel I have to keep your poor suffering soul happy… I don't give a fuck if you don't like it. Suggestions? Go to catering school or something. Your food gives me gut ache and your coffee makes me feel like puking. Was there anything else?'

Spencer pulled over the car into a slot at the side of the street and turned off the engine. 'There's nothing else. I'll just remember not to offer you coffee in future.'

'Yeah… do that please. It breaks my poor heart to see you upset because I turned down a mug. It's why I have it so sweet. It's to take that vile aftertaste out of my mouth. Why have we stopped?'

Spencer jabbed a finger out of the window. 'Sheerwater.' He muttered. 'May I suggest that you forgo your thoughts on not getting back to how you were and rush in there and make your unreasonable and insane demands now?'

Floyd let out a snort of a laugh and moved his hand from the seat and rested it on Spencer's leg. 'You're such an unhappy bunny. I can make you feel better.' He grinned a very broad and evil looking grin at Spencer.

'You can make me feel better…' Spencer agreed… '…I know you can, but Floyd right now you're being really quite vile.'

'It's my nature to be really quite vile. It's how things should be and I know that you love me like this… I can feel the heat of lust flowing of you. I don't quite understand why you'd want a lover who beats the shit out of you and ties you up in a dark stinking cellar…' Floyd stopped and dug his fingers into Spencer's leg '…oh fuck it… I've gone and ruined my surprise now. See? You're getting me all flustered with your loving and passionate demands. Drive on. I've seen the place and I now need to decide what to do about it. Take the first right you can, we need to go west.'

Spencer wanted to go home. He wanted to be able to close his door and feel almost safe. He certainly didn't like that veiled threat Floyd had just made. One part of him loved this though… the thrill of it! The adrenaline pumping, heart skipping horror of what he was getting himself into… it was something he'd missed. It wasn't just pain following more pain… it was anticipation and the knowledge that what he was doing was just drawing himself further towards something which could result in him being dead. He could feel the sweat popping out on his brow, his hands slipped on the wheel, his legs were shaking… finally he pulled over before Floyd had told him to stop and leaned forwards with his head on the streeting wheel. He didn't think it was safe to drive further until he'd gotten himself under a bit of control again. 'I don't feel well.' He muttered.

Floyd for a while remained silent. He was looking over Spencer's bent back out of the driver's side window… and he waited with his own heart thumping and pounding in his chest and heat flowing through his body like he was about to explode. He looked at the lack of traffic and people. The place was deadly quiet. They'd not get caught. Not that Floyd cared about being caught as such, but he didn't want to be pulled in or pretending to be dead when he was very clearly very alive. A hand moved to the top of Spencer's head and another to his own jeans. He heard the small moan of fright from Spencer as his fingers wound around his hair. 'Put my cock in your ever loving mouth.' Floyd told Spencer and pulled him closer. 'There's no one around. No one will see what a dirty slut you are.'

Floyd stank of decomp. The closer Floyd pulled Spencer to him the stronger the smell became. Floyd's pores were sweating the stink and the smell coming from where Floyd was pushing his face was making him want to gag. He wanted to pull away and tell Floyd to go wash. He many a times been with Floyd in this way when he was less than clean, but this was maybe the worst he'd come across. It was like blowing a week old corpse that had been left in the sun and rain.

And Floyd knew this. He could hear the little noises Spencer was making. He could feel the resistance, though slight, of his gentle guiding hand. He could even smell the stink rising from him, but that made it all the better. Floyd pushed himself into Spencer's mouth and rammed… hard… he could again feel Spencer trying to move away, he could hear the gagging sounds he was making… he could feel the writhing panicking Spencer in his grip but there really wasn't anything much nicer… at least that was Floyd's thoughts at the moment… the sudden heat of the vomit in Spencer's mouth was the final bit of loving Floyd needed and as Spencer heaved and puked over Floyd's lap, Floyd gave Spencer everything he'd been saving up for him and then pushed him away as Spencer made yet more gagging and heaving noises and Floyd made small contented yelps of joy and wiped at the muck oozing over the front of his jeans and on his dirty filth smeared skin.

'Well I've not had fun like that in a while!' Floyd laughed. 'We are going to have such a party later! Drive on! Drive on, Babes! I'll take you to my new home. And damn – you're going to love it! At least you'd best love it! I'll be unhappy if you don't and you know I'm not always this sweet and loving… I do have a nasty side to me too!'

o-o-o

They Greens gave Sam a lecture. They told him that sexual comments and remarks were not what would be expected. They told him that they understood his frustration with this situation and they knew that it confused him at times, but he had to control the urge to lash out physically and verbally at people. They also tried to advice Sam on matters of dress code, drinking, smoking… and table manners. Sam sat in his jock strap, Barbie Tshirt and a pair of pink boots and frowned.

'And what's in it for me?' He wanted to know. 'What do I get out of it?'

They told him that he'd be able to mix easier with other people. That he'd not feel so threatened by everyone. They said that he would be able to relax and actually start to enjoy his life.

'Hmm.' Sam crossed his legs and swung his free leg back and forth. 'I'm not a project for you to work over.' He told them. 'I'm not an animal to be trained. I have needs too. If you want me to behave, which I'm sure you do so that you don't get a black mark next to your names and be called _failures_, then what do I get back? You're all ready feeding me and clothing me. You've already given me a roof over my head… so the only thing lacking as far as I can see is sex. Now you're saying I can't have that?'

John leaned forwards, but not so close as to touch Sam. 'As it is you don't like to leave the house…'

Sam waved a hand for him to stop. 'I know… I know what you're going to say. I don't like leaving the house so where am I going to get a blow job from and I'm not about to ask you, so don't worry, but I can call someone. I can get a whore to come here and fuck me and I'll be safe and you'll be able to listen.'

Sally put a hand to her mouth which had dropped open. John spoke again. 'That isn't going to happen, Sam. You are sixteen.'

'Right. I'm old enough to be used as a thing to masturbate into but not old enough to find something safe for me?' Sam stood up and marched out of the room. He stood staring at the front door for a while. He desperately wanted to go out and get a hammering. He so much wanted to go somewhere and display himself and get paid for the luxury. He wanted to feel hot and lusty and sweaty and have someone tell him what a sweet arse and mouth he had, but going out of that door alone just wasn't on his agenda. He spun and stomped up the stairs and went to the bathroom. Over the basin was a small medicine cabinet and in there were pain killers. Sam had been helping himself to them since he'd arrived here… one here… two there… now after the few days he'd been here the 120 white pills were down to only five. He threw them into his mouth and crunched down on them, then with the empty pot he clumped back down the stairs and threw the little white pot at Sally. 'And you've run out of sodding pain pills and I'm in pain, so next time you go shopping fucking well get some more before I take a knife from your fucking kitchen and kill myself. Because you are a pain in my backside! At least…' He glared at John. '…sometimes I wish you were.' Then he snatched the remote control off the side table and threw himself down onto a chair. 'and I've unlocked the porn channels so unless you want to watch Big Dick and Bigger Henry – Slide and Thrust Special, I suggest you leave the room now.'

The television, much to Sam chagrin was turned off by a swift fingered John. It was Sally who removed the remote control from Sam's sticky fingers. 'There are rules which need to be followed. You must try to understand that we're not doing this to annoy you, we are doing this because at some stage in your life you will have to face the world alone and you need to know how to act and react in public. You have to know that watching pornography on a television in the lounge of someone's home is wrong. You need to know that walking around half dressed isn't seemly. You should know that we are doing this for you. One day you _will_ have to cope on your own and we want that to be a good experience for you and not one which is going to collapse around you as you try to adapt. This time you have with us is your time to learn how to adapt.'

Sam sat back on the soft chair and ran his fingers down the red velour making little lines of darker red on the fabric. 'OK – let me give it to you the way I see my life. I'm destined to die young. I'm not going to ever have a job and live independently. It's just not going to happen and I don't want it to happen. The idea of it freaks me out. I walked all the way from that fucking place Iolanda had me… treating me like a fucking dog… making me eat with the dogs out of a metal dish – sometimes with my hands tied behind my back…and the first chance I got I ran away and he's not going to let that be. He's not going to sit back and train another fucker to do his work and to bend over and show his arse at the click of his fingers. So as I see it, I'm going to die within the next year or so and I don't want to spend that time learning how to fucking well adapt! I want to be who I am not some mutant freak you expect me to be. I want to be screwed till I scream. I want blood on my sheets in the morning. I want my hair pulled and I want to be kicked and hated and spat at and shouted at, because that's all I've ever known and that's what makes me feel comfortable. The idea of living a long life and having a job and family… well that's laughable. It's never going to happen. I'm a bright burning flame… and that flame will burn down quick and die.'

'Sam…' John tried to keep annoyance out of his voice. Why didn't this boy understand? 'Life can be wonderful.'

'It's not what I was created for. Floyd created me to masturbate into. I'm his cunt when Spencer isn't around. That's all I am and all I ever will be because I was made in Hades. I'm not even human. I'm a small and insignificant lesser demon… sorry to disappoint you, but that's the truth of it and there's fuck all I can do about it and nothing you can do about it. I'm not meant to live… I'm meant to die at the hands of Floyd… hopefully as he screws me. That's what I want so damned much! I want Floyd to either give me a soul or to let me die with my adrenaline pumping and my arse throbbing. I just hope that he gets here before Iolanda… but then – Floyd is dead. Why is my life so unfair?' Sam jumped to his feet and was howling out of the room and stomping back up the stairs again before more could be said.

'He needs specialist care, John. He needs intensive treatment. We can't help him.' She looked at the doorway and sighed. 'And I think with his sexual references… well… I don't know that he's safe.'

'You think he will do something to you?' John rubbed at his chin and his eyes were also looking at the doorway.

'No, John. I think it is _you_ he will do something to. And you are well aware of that. This has to end. I'll not put my marriage to you at risk because Sam can't control his urges. Yes they are paying us over and above what we would normally be offered to take on a teen, but this… this just isn't worth the risk. He's taken all the damned pain pills! That small vegetable knife with the silver handle has gone missing. There's a penis now engraved into the kitchen table and he's now telling us that he's going to die. This isn't something we want in our house. No amount of money is worth it.'

John's hand was now fiddling with his ear. He did that when he was nervous… tonight he had been doing a lot of ear fiddling. 'Very well. I'll call them first thing tomorrow and we'll say we can't deal with this.'

Sally stood up and smiled. 'Thank you John.'

Sam stood at the top of the stairs listened to the conversation going on between the pair of them down there warm and comfortable in their opinionated ugly lives. Sam wasn't going to be pushed around and judged by them any longer. He'd had enough. He wanted out of this, but he didn't want to be thrown into a loony bin. He wanted sympathy and loving care and warm arms to enfold him. He really didn't care if they were fatal loving arms right now. He walked quickly and silently to his room, closed the door and thought hard about how he was going to get out of this pickle, get back to where he was meant to be and not be in trouble for it. It was the mention of the little knife which brought light into Sam's eyes. He still didn't move from the bed though. He sat and waited. They had dinner to get through yet. He was going to have to wait and it was going to be annoyingly painful to have to wait and try to be nice and not show what he was really thinking.

Eventually John came knocking on his door and let Sam know that dinner had been served. Sam had been sitting motionless for hours and now he needed to pee and stretch his muscles and relax his brain and just go with the flow for a while. He let John know that he'd been down shortly… and was down stairs within five short minutes. He had pizza for his dinner. Something he could easily eat, but he wasn't hungry now. He was excited and feeling sick with the twisting in his stomach. He nibbled around the edges and told them both that he had a stomach ache and wanted to go back to his room. They tempted him with apple pie, but Sam felt his stomach lurch in panic at the very idea of it. He didn't want their kindness. He didn't want their false happiness. He needed to go back to his room and mentally prepare himself for later. 'Can I go back to my room?' He asked. 'I just need to be alone right now.'

John and Sally gave the nod for him to leave the table and told him that if he was hungry later to just make himself a sandwich. He nodded at that and started to leave the room, but turned and looked back at the pair of them. He wanted to blurt out that he hated them and thought they were both bitches for throwing him out of their home. He wanted to beg them for hugs to make everything better but he just stood looking at them and said… 'Iolanda will get me and he'll get you too if you're not careful.' And then spun and left the room before they could react.

Sam sat on his bed and stared at wall. He didn't twitch or move until he heard Sally and John calling through his door that they were going to bed now. They wished him goodnight through the wooden door and he called out to them that he hoped they slept well. 'Happy dreams.' Sam called and then carried on sitting staring at nothing. He waited… he waited until he heard the clock downstairs chime, chime, chime, chime… it was four in the morning and time to get moving. Now Sam stood and stretched. He walked to the cupboard where his new clothes were stored and rummaged through in the dark, feeling for the cold metal of the knife. He placed it carefully on his bed, pulled off the clothes he had on, and put on the bottom half of a pair of pyjamas he'd been given. The small knife he held tightly in his hand and slowly and silently he left his room, leaving the door open behind him. Sam slinked down the stairs, checking out the telephone on the wall in the hallway. Then he padded out to the kitchen. Sam unbolted the back door and pulled it open and then after taking in a big gulp of early morning air he walked back out of the room, again leaving the door open and returned to outside his bedroom door.

He knew Sally well enough to know that she was a light sleeper. He knew also that when he shouted out in the night that Sally would come out of her room and come and check on him. Tonight Sam stood with the knife concealed in his hand and after taking a deep breath began a series of whines and moans. It was spooky and ghostly in the darkness of the hallway, but Sam knew that Sally would flick the light switch for the hall down her end of the passageway. When she didn't appear after a couple of minutes, Sam upped the noise level slightly and snapped out a couple of random swear words. 'Fucking cunting arsehole!' Not too loud. He didn't want to wake up John. Sam stared down the passageway and sure enough he saw Sally's bedroom door open. He saw her hand snake out and flick the switch. He squeezed out some tears and stood swaying outside his bedroom door.

'Sam? Are you all right?' She spoke softly in her unkind backstabbing way. Sam knew that she hated him. Sam knew that this was all a false front and that tomorrow they were going to try to get rid of him. He didn't react to her words but stayed making his little noises and doing a bit of swaying, just for the effect of it. She walked closer. 'Sam?' She looked puzzled. Sam wondered if Sally thought he was still asleep and having an odd dream. 'Sam?' She spoke again and now she was real close… very close… he could smell her bed and sleepy smell coming off her. He could smell her tiredness and annoyance that she'd had another broken sleep. 'Come back to bed.' She reached out and now Sam spoke.

'Why do you hate me?' He put on a sulky whining voice.

'I don't. I don't hate you, Sam. You confuse me and you annoy me sometimes, but I don't hate you. Go back to bed. We can talk more in the morning.' She pointed to his door.

'I need a piss.' He muttered and nodded his chin at the bathroom. 'Can you check nothing is in there? I thought… I thought… I think I had a bad dream.'

She nodded and turned her back.

Sally didn't know it had happened. It was all over so quickly. Sam pounced on her back and sliced through her throat, killing and silencing her in one swift move. There was the slightest moan and a crump as she fell. Sam jumped back and looked down at her hand twitching and then at the red pool of blood flowing around the slice in her neck. 'You _do_ hate me, you fucking bitch. You whore… you fucking whore dog's pizzle. You rancid fucking virgina.' He prodded her with a toe, being careful not to get blood on his feet and when she didn't move he stepped over her and moved onto the bedroom where hopefully John was still sleeping. The door was slightly open and Sam placed his clean hand on the wood and pushed it all the way open. He moved quickly now around the bed to where John was snoring slightly in his contented sleep. There was temptation to wake him and let him know what a naughty boy he'd been and let him see Sally, but the ruckus wasn't worth it. Too risky. He looked down at the sleeping face and brought the blade down on the man's chest. Then he repeated… Then he repeated again. John did wake up, but only in time to see that the poor boy they'd been annoyed with earlier was hurting him. At first John thought Sam was punching him… his eyes locked onto Sam's and that was when Sam raised the knife up for John to see. He let him… it was over now anyway. He plunged the knife into the bastard's eye and heard it pop and saw the stuff dribbling down. Sam pulled it out with a sucking slurping sound and this time hacked at John's neck. There was no need. The man was already dead. Sam wiped the knife in the edge of the pillow and then wiped the muck off his hands and walked slowly from the room, over Sally and then to his bedroom door. He placed the knife carefully on the floor and turned back to Sally. Let out a howl and ran… slipping in her blood this time, he ran his bloody footprints to the bedroom and moved to John who he shook and screamed at to wake up… he made sure that he got blood on his hands and pyjama bottoms. He moved back out of the room and turned Sally over and screamed… again making sure that he had blood on his clothes and hands. Sam picked up the knife, ran down the stairs and snatched up the telephone. He called the emergency number and screamed…

'Someone's killed them! Oh my god! Help me! He's still in the house! Please help me!' Then he dropped the telephone and turned the knife around in his hand and slashed both arms and across one palm… Sam then pushed it carefully into his own chest, pulled it out and pushed it into his stomach. 'Help me! Oh god… I'm bleeding… someone help me!' He howled it nice and loud and then laid down, closed his eyes and waited… he left the knife in him and clutched at it with his hands, making sure that his fingerprints were all over it. A good result, Sam believed. He'd be fine as long was someone hurried the fuck up and got there.

'Hello? Hello? We have your address. Someone is on the way. Can you talk to me? Hello?' A voice nagged in his ear from the damned dangling telephone… he made a few mumbled pain filled mumbles and then pulled on the phone cord until the thing fell off the wall and disconnected them.

o-o-o

Spencer stood in front of an old wooden door leading into an old abandoned building on an old and mostly abandoned warehouse district. Floyd pulled the door open and picked up a large rubber flashlight. He clicked the switch and handed it to Spencer.

'Steps going down.' Floyd said in a wavering false spooky voice. 'Go on. Hurry up. I want to show you my new pad.'

'You live down there?' Spencer let the light shine down what looked like a dark hole in the ground.

'Well sort of. Don't be a pussy, Spencer. Go on down… I'll go first but don't think of running away.' Floyd sidled past Spencer and moved quickly down a flight of concrete stairs. Spencer moved a bit slower, shining the light onto the steps as he went. The smell was disgusting. It was like walking down into an old charnel house. His stomach heaved and turned and he wondered if this was the reason Floyd stank so much. He rubbed at his nose which was damp and cold and moved to stand next to Floyd at the bottom. Fifteen steps, Spencer had counted without realising he was doing it. He was going to say something but Floyd grabbed his wrist and forced the light to shine on an old rusty metal door with a padlocked chain across it. 'That's where I live. Like it?'

Spencer said nothing. The alarm bells which had been ringing in his head since he got into the car earlier were sounding off so loud now that they were making his head spin. He didn't want to go to that door. He didn't want to know what was the other side of it, but Floyd was there now pulling the chain off and shouldering the door open. Slowly, on rubber legs, Spencer followed him to the door. Floyd had already walked into the room and now Spencer stood there at the door gagging and trying not to throw up on his sneakers.

'Come on in and make yourself comfortable.' Floyd turned and put out a hand in a gesture of _welcome_.

One step into the small room and Spencer decided that was as far as he was going. There seemed to be a pile of blankets in a corner, rusty pipes snaked around the room and in the middle was a sodden mess of what appeared to be squashed cardboard boxes. 'What's that smell?' Spencer now had one hand to his nose.

'The drains. I put stuff over it but it seems to seep on through. It's not so bad. You'll get used to it.'

Spencer shook his head. 'Floyd… I can't get used to that. It smells like someone has died and is rotting down here. How can you stand that smell?'

'The smell. Really Spencer is that all you have to say? Nothing else? Of course it smells like something is rotting. I said didn't I? It's the fucking drains. They're not all that efficient. Come right in and close the door behind you.' He paused and shook his head. 'Spencer… I don't want to have to force you but you are really beginning to piss me off and you really don't want to see me when I'm pissed off. I got you a fucking flashlight didn't I? Stop moaning and close the damned door.'

Spencer was told to sit on the blankets and make himself comfortable. 'It's going to be an exciting night. You've got my blood up.' Floyd told Spencer. 'I'm going to need a lot of Spencer type loving… Put that down.' Floyd snatched a six inch length of bone out of Spencer's hand. 'That's mine. Don't fucking touch my stuff. You're here to be fucked not to nose around my things and don't even think about screaming cos this place is lovely and remote… not to mention fairly sound proof. I know. I've checked it.' Floyd moved to the bowl of water under the dripping pipe and washed his hands. 'I like the security of this place. Can you either put the fucking light down or stop flashing it around? You're making the shadows jump. And we don't like it when the shadows jump do we Spencer? That's good… great. See how much light it gives off? Just enough to see me coming for you huh? Now you're going to play my game or you'll end up in the drain like the other fuckers.'

Spencer had put the flashlight down and now wanted to pick it up again. He watched through the gloom as Floyd closed the door and chained it again, this time from the inside. 'Floyd – it's a great place for hiding out, but surely…'

'Hiding out. Exactly, my dear boy. I'm hiding out. I'm dead, you do understand that don't you? I'm officially dead and buried. So I can't afford to be seen. I can't afford to be picked up by the cops. You understand that don't you… stop fucking moving away from me… I'm going to have you and don't you – fucking – shake – your FUCKING HEAD AT ME! And next time I'll hit you harder, you fucking bag of nothing. I brought you here as a gift in gratitude for showing me where my liver is. Now I'm going to pay you back for that.' A pause as Floyd ripped Spencer's Tshirt off over his head. 'Fucking blink or something will you? If I wanted to fuck a corpse I'd go find one. I wanted warmth… I wanted a warm arse. Get on your knees you stupid cunt. How can I fuck you if you're sitting there with those damned eyes looking at me? Now see what you've made me do? You're bleeding again.' He ran a thumb over Spencer's mouth, smearing fresh blood across the side of his face. 'Sweet… sweet… kiss me and love me. Show me how much you've missed me.' Floyd ground his mouth onto Spencer's. He sucked on the bloody lip and bit on his top lip. Floyd snaked his tongue into Spencer's not very friendly, but bloodied mouth and Spencer did try to resist, but what was the point? He couldn't get away. He'd walked into this like a lamb going to slaughter, still convinced that somewhere inside of this person was the old Floyd screaming to escape. For that night at least Spencer was wrong. The damage externally done wasn't as bad as the last time. Floyd only smacked him a few times. The emotional damage was enormous though as Floyd told Spencer how he'd killed the scum who had lived here and then the following day had fucked him and eaten him at the same time. Spencer cried silent tears knowing that his mouth had been where Floyd had abused the dead. He cried knowing that he was going to be next. He moaned and whimpered and made keening noises as Floyd told him how good it was to fuck the living again.

It was the best damned night Floyd had had in a long time. He was feeling really like his old self again.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Sam heard people enter the house. He could hear hesitant footfalls coming from the kitchen. He lay with his hands clutched around the small knife and let the tears fall hard and fast… he joined that with a good helping of home made snot which bubbled out of his nose and popped in warm droplets over his top lip. The felt hands touching him, alarmed voices… everything was going really well.

They took him from the house out of the front door on a gurney. He could hear the wheels clattering over the stones and he felt the loving warm care of hands touching his bare skin. This was what it was meant to be like. The calm gentle voices, the bleeping of thing letting them know that he was going to be all right. They moved his hands away from the knife, but they didn't remove the knife. They told Sam that it would be removed at the hospital. They didn't ask many questions, just were there any other places he was hurt? And as they asked they put bags over his hands and taped them to his wrists and Sam needed to tell them to get them off. He didn't want them on there, but he decided that crying and snotting and letting his bladder go was a better and more realistic option here. The pain was actually very mild. He'd been careful where he'd put that little deadly knife.

It was maybe a couple of hours later that things began to feel not quite right for Sam. The warmth and the general _poor boy_ attitude seemed to shift to something else. Sam wasn't sure exactly what that shift was or what it meant, but he didn't like it very much. He was in a private room and he could see through the open doorway that there were cops moving around, standing around… just there… out there and they didn't need to be. He was actually feeling OK. He had bandages up both arms and a dressing over the palm of his left hand. He had things wrapped around the two wounds on his body and he felt hungry and thirsty and he was desperate for a smoke.

He lay, bored out of his skull on his bed and let out the occasional whimper to let people know that he was still there… he'd not got up and walked home; not that he had a home. He was poorly and stabbed and hacked at and was bloody lucky to be alive. So where the fuck had all the sympathy suddenly gone.

'How are you feeling?' It was a police officer.

'Like I've been stabbed.' Sam snapped back at him.

The cop sat down on the blue chair next to Sam's bed and opened a note pad. 'I just wanted to ask you a few quick questions while your mind is still fresh. Do you think you can manage that?'

Sam let out a long painful sounding moan but he nodded. 'As long as you don't get me over tired. I'm meant to be sleeping.' He told him.

'Did you see who attacked you?' Sam was asked in a slow careful and gentle voice which didn't suit the pig sitting there.

'Not really.' Sam sniffled.

Scribbled notes. 'You were attacked from the front. Did you look at the person who did this to you?'

Sam frowned. He wriggled in the bed a bit and shrugged. He'd not thought about that. It hadn't occurred to him that they'd ask this. 'I didn't see his face. He was all dressed in black.'

The cop nodded. 'And did you see his hands. Did you see the knife in his hands? Do you remember what his hands looked like?'

A trick question. 'His hands?' Sam found that he was holding his own up and looking at them… he placed them carefully at his side again. 'I don't understand what you mean. I wasn't really looking at his hands.'

Another question followed. 'Was he wearing gloves, Sam? Could you see bare skin? What did his hands look like? If you couldn't see his face and you weren't looking at his hands, what were you looking at?'

Sam swallowed back the slight niggle of panic he was feeling. 'It was dark!'

'The upstairs hallway light was on. The downstairs was pretty well lit up when the emergency crew arrived. You might have seen something. We just need some little clue. What colour was his skin? Could you see his hair? How tall do you think he was?'

A quick nervous lip licking went on now. He had to think and this pig wasn't giving him the chance. 'He was big, very tall and he had gloves on… blue gloves and his hair was curly and messed up. He was a white bloke.'

A nod and the cop stood. 'Thank you Sam. That's very helpful. You rest now, but there will be more questions later.' The man turned and left Sam laying there feeling slightly confused and muddled. He'd meant to describe Iolanda, but forgot when he'd been asked. Damn… He gritted his teeth and swore lightly under his breath. He also kept forgetting to ask about Sally and John and if they were really dead… He knew that he needed to ask this and he knew that if he didn't then they'd think he was a cold emotionless bastard, so he stuck that thought in the front of his mind and tried to remember to ask.

o-o-o

The cops didn't like it one bit. The boy was lying. It was very obvious he was lying. From the call to emergency services to talking to the cop. It seemed that everything the lad said was a lie.

Sally Green was a woman of about five foot four inches. She was a lithe woman who kept fit. The cut to her neck was right to left and had been cut from behind in slight upwards arc. If the man was taller, then that didn't tally quite right. Her body had been moved. There were bloody fingerprints on the floor next to her and also further down the passage outside Sam's door was a small smear of blood and another smudge of a finger print as though something had been dropped and picked up again. Mrs Green had just the one cut to her throat. Mr Green had been attack with such savage force that he had two broken ribs. The knife had punctured his eye, broken through the back and entered his brain. He had a total of forty-three knife wounds. There was bruising around some of the cuts where the knife had been used with such force.

Yet the lad who could possibly identify the murderer was stabbed only two times in places where it was very unlikely to do serious damage. There were what looked to be defensive wounds to his hand and up the inside of both arms. There was no bruising around the stab wounds and the cuts appeared to have been made with less force. They almost seemed to have been done with hesitation or maybe care? It was strange too that though his man was apparently tall, both of Sam's stab wounds had a slight upwards thrust to them.

'And why didn't the guy just kill the kid. He'd shown enough force on the adults to show us that it was possible. Why leave him alive?'

The crime scene people sat looking at photos of Sam's wounds and compared them to photos of the Greens. 'Whoever killed Mr Green had huge strength… it doesn't fit. Nothing seems right about this. What do we know about the boy?'

From then onwards things seemed to go very wrong for Sam. He was told that his injuries were not much more than flesh wounds. He was lucky, very lucky considering the savagery which had been carried out on the Foster carers. Sam was told that he was fit to leave the hospital. He would have to return and have stitches removed, but otherwise he'd been fortunate. There was not a lot of blood loss and he was healing very quickly. Sam pointed out that he had nowhere to go, but that little problem was soon solved. He was escorted directly from the hospital to the police station and this alarmed Sam rather a lot. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted to know why he was in trouble.

'I've not done anything wrong. The bastard nearly killed me. Am I under arrest for something? Do I need a lawyer? Why am I going here and not to somewhere else? Why aren't I still in hospital? I'm in shock.'

They muttered a few replies to him. 'You're not under arrest but you are a witness and anything you can remember will be important. You want us to find who did this don't you? You don't want this person coming after you do you? He will know by now that you survived. We need to keep you safe.'

Sam opened his mouth to protest strongly about this. He was going to say that he would be safe if they just let him go and allow him to find his way home. He didn't want to be questioned and have to try to remember what he'd said. He didn't want to sit in a police station! This wasn't how it was meant to go! It was all falling apart and he'd been so very, very careful…

The questions started from the beginning. 'What made you get out of bed that night?'

'I'm a fairly light sleeper and I woke up wanting to use the toilet. I went out into the hall and she was just laying there on the floor.'

'Good… now go back a bit… when you first woke up, what did you feel? What did you hear?'

Sam picked at the bandage on his hand and sucked in his lips. He had to think… and you didn't have to think if you were telling the truth and they would know. 'I'm just trying to get things in the right order. My feet were cold and I needed a piss so I got up…'

'Up from where?'

'I was in bed.' Sam told them. 'I got up… and I could see light coming from under my door and the hallway light is left off at night, so I opened the door expecting to see Sally, because if I have a bad dream she comes to see if I'm OK.'

The cop made some quick notes and nodded. 'You're doing well, Sam. Did you have a bad dream that night?'

Slowly Sam shook his head. 'I don't remember. I don't always remember them, but Sally will say that I've been calling out in my sleep or something and she'll come to make sure I'm OK, so I was awake and when I saw the light I thought that's what had happened, so I went out into the hallway and saw Sally just laying on the floor there.'

'Good.' The cop asked Sam if he wanted a drink of soda or a coffee. Was he hungry and would he like something to eat? Sam pressed a hand onto his stomach and told them that he was fine right now.

They left Sam to stew for a while and conferred again with the aid of the photographs of the crime scene. 'He said he was sleeping in his bed, woke up because his feet were cold and maybe he'd had a bad dream.' There were muttering voices as they flicked through the pictures again. 'He didn't sleep in his bed. His bed was made up and hadn't been slept in. His pillow hadn't been used. He'd not been sleeping in or on that damned bed. The boy is lying.'

'We need to ask about the knife too. We have that back or just the photos?'

Photos were passed over and the detective looked down at it. 'A short blade. The person wielding this would have had to have used a lot of force. I can't see that the lad we have in there has the strength to do what was done. Not that many times. Maybe once or twice, but…'

'You've read the reports on that boy?' A female in a smart green suit asked. 'They say over and over again how violent he is.' She swept her hand towards to photo of the knife. 'It wont be the first time that a minor has attacked his family and I'm not so sure that you're correct about his strength. He's wiry. There's tight corded muscle in his arms. The surgeon commented on how Sam's injuries would or could have been much worse if it wasn't for his body condition. He's a fit young man. Don't let that face and his demeanour fool you.'

'I'll ask about the knife.' The detective said and picked up a bit of paper which looked like a photocopy of something hand written.

Sam was sipping on cola when the man entered the room again. 'You OK there?' He asked Sam who nodded back slowly.

'Am I in trouble for something?'

'Should you be?' The cop smiled and laid down his new bits of paper face down so that Sam couldn't see them. 'How well did you get on with the Greens? Were they good to you?'

Sam shifted uneasily in his chair. 'They were strict but not too bad. Sally took me shopping, but I freaked out and she brought me home again. They had a lot of rules, but I could see the point in most of them and they were real good about never shouting or stuff. I thought they were OK.'

'So you didn't have any big problems with them?'

Sam shook his head this time. 'Just the usual. They were OK. Not my family, but I'd not wish harm on them.'

'Do you recognise this?' The photo of the knife was now shown to Sam who did a good shudder and then pressed his hands against his eyes in a very good dramatic performance of someone looking at something he didn't like.

'It was what the man stabbed me with.' Sam moaned and now moved his hands to his stomach.

'It says here in Sally's book… _The small vegetable knife (silver blade and handle has gone missing from the kitchen. I will ask Sam about this later as he certainly used something sharp to carve an obscene picture into the kitchen table. Sam has been playing up all day. Actually his attitude scares me. I don't feel safe around him. I have discussed this with John and we have decided that this isn't the right place for Sam to be. We will make calls tomorrow and have him moved. _Now obviously it seems to me, Sam that Sally and John weren't happy with your company and this knife which was used to kill them and to hurt you comes from a set of knives, the others are still in the kitchen in the butcher's block. Why do you think that someone planning to murder a family would sneak into the house the day before and take a tiny knife, only to return later… why not take the bigger knife?'

Sam sat staring at the photo and didn't know what to say. He couldn't answer that question. He didn't know Sally had noticed that the knife had gone. He wanted to tell the detective that Sally was actually a bitch and oppressive and any young man would have wanted her dead, but he kept his jaw tight and just stared at the picture. The cop had a very good point. Sam tried to think of a reasonable answer but before he reached it he was asked another question. 'You have sleeping problems? Nightmares you said.'

Sam looked at the man, but not in the eyes. He looked just over the man's right shoulder. 'I have nightmares. I call out in my sleep.'

'Do you ever sleep, say under the bed?'

A frown crossed Sam's face. 'No… why? I sleep in my bed.'

'Always.'

A panicked lump of something raced into Sam's heart. He thought it was going to skip, skip, skip… stop… but it suddenly smoothed out and carried on its erratic and irregular pounding. 'Always when there is one provided.'

A new photo now appeared in front of Sam. It was his bed. 'Recognise that?'

'My bed.' Sam whispered.

'And Sam, that photo was taken just moments after you were rushed away. Sally and John cooling out slowly… that's a photograph of your bed, the way you left it before you found Sally dead outside your door and it doesn't look to me like anyone has been sleeping in it. What do you think Sam?'

'Fucking arsehole shit! I'm grieving! I'm in distress and probably in shock! I've survived an attempted murder and you can't fucking talk to me like this you cunt! You think I did that?' Sam got to his feet and slammed his fists down on the desk. It gave the detective a good chance to see those small tight muscles in Sam's arms. 'You motherfucking son of a whore!' Sam shouted at him, spitting cola and snot at him. 'I didn't fucking hurt them! I'm a fucking kid! Why would I hurt the only people who have ever been nice to me?' Tears… tears, snot and sobbing and a bit of drool for added effect. 'You're just a fucking cunting bully!' Sam sat back down again, picked up his plastic cup of soda and lobbed it across the room.

'Quite a temper you have there.' Detective Olson remarked. 'It also says in here that your name isn't Sam Snow but it Sam Trent-Saviour. We will trace that and we will trace this Dr Reid and Floyd Flanders and we will locate Louis Iolanda and you, son will be in the care of social services until this is sorted. Don't pack a flight bag yet though boy. I don't think you're going anywhere but in a six by eight for a while.' He paused and looked at Sam's ashen face. 'That would be the size of the double cell I'd be recommending.'

Sam threw himself over the table at the detective. He had his fingernails digging in to the man's neck before he could stop himself from doing it. Sam was howling abuse and threats and telling them what he was going to do to them. Others peeled Sam off, stuck a pair of cuffs on his hands and linked those cuffs to a small ring under the table. He was told to sit and be quiet. They asked him if he realised what he'd done. Did he remember doing it? Did he sit on his bed all night planning it out? They asked where he'd hidden the knife. They wanted to know how he knew where to stab himself. They wanted to know what he'd dropped on the floor next to his bedroom door. They wanted to know how the fluid from John's eye got under the fingernails of Sam's right hand. They wanted to know how he'd managed to get blood everywhere but the person who supposedly did this didn't leave a finger print of smudge of anything anywhere, let alone bloody foot prints. They wanted to know if the man had followed Sam down the stairs or was already down there? They wanted to know if Sam felt secure in that house.

Sam sat with his mouth slightly open allowing drool to gather and then drop off his lip and onto the table. He'd messed up. All that careful planning… but they had no proof. That's what was good. They had absolutely zero proof of anything.

o-o-o

Typical of the times Spencer woke up after a loving evening with Floyd, he was, it seemed, alone in the stinking hole Floyd had brought him to. There was no light, but the flashlight had been placed in his hand. Very thoughtful of Floyd. Spencer groaned and ran bruised and shaking fingers carefully over his face. There was dried blood under his nose and a swelling on the side of his face which felt like a bite. He moved around until he was sitting painfully and then turned on the flashlight and swung the light slowly around. The chain was gone from the door, but Spencer thought that was because it was now on the other side of that large door – locking him in this tomb. The length of time he'd been in here wasn't possible to judge. There was no natural light and nothing to tell the time off. A slow drip, drip, drip of water was coming from somewhere and Spencer soon found that it was from the pipe that the bowl sat under. Now his attention was on the squashed wet cardboard in the middle of the room. It covered a space of a couple of feet and was a few inches thick. Some of it had something printed on it, but the card was too wet and ruined to see what it said. He wanted to go and investigate. His time spent here hadn't helped him in getting used to the dreadful stink. Spencer didn't think he could ever get used to such a smell. He dragged his clothes over, which were piled and folded neatly next to him and pulled his Tshirt back over his head. It stung as it scraped over the sensitive skin on his face, but it provided much needed security against the dark. Next he slipped into his boxers, which were ripped, but still better than nothing. Next the jeans which seemed to be still in fairly good condition except or the waistband button had popped off. He didn't bother with his sneakers for now.

Slowly he crawled to the door, not wanting to get to his feet. He reached out and let the light dance off it for a while. There was a U shaped door handle half way up. Spencer reached up and pulled. He heard a clang and a rattle of the chains the other side. There was no point in trying again. The door didn't move. Spencer again sat down carefully – this time with his back to the door. He could feel the ice cold of the metal through his Tshirt and it felt good. He pulled up his knees, placed the flashlight on the floor next to him and rested his head on his knees with his arms wrapped around his shins and he looked and he looked and he stared at the soggy cardboard which Floyd had put down not to stop the smell, but in an attempt to stop Spencer from seeing what was under it. Had Floyd forgotten it was there?

Spencer head snapped up with a sudden thought. What if Floyd had forgotten _he_ was here? What if he walked away, got distracted by something and just forgot? What if he did something and was arrested… what if he was killed? How in the name of hell was he going to get out of this stinking pit in the middle of nowhere? He looked again at the stuff on the floor and now moved away from the door and knelt next to the smelly pile of brownish wet stuff. Spencer shone the light over it just to make sure that there was nothing there he would scream about if he touched and then prodded it with his finger and sniffed it. Spencer now realised that one of the reasons it was that Floyd had been urinating on it. The smell was thick and musty, but not as bad as the smell wafting around him which seemed to be seeping out of the walls and ground as it had been out of Floyd. Spencer reluctantly figured that a place like this was likely the very sort of place Floyd would feel most at home. Carefully he started to drag the cardboard mess out of the way. He half expected to see nothing there at all, but slowly the eighteen inch square drain appeared on the floor. The edges of the concrete floor sloped slightly downwards towards it. The stink from the soggy card and now rolling out of the drain like a thick green solid mass, made Spencer recoil. Honestly even when he'd been to see bodies which were opened up and being examined during autopsy, Spencer had never in his life smelt something this bad. It defied words and thoughts. All Spencer was able to do was to close his eyes tight, let the tears flow and puke up his stomach lining. He stayed on his knees rocking slowly back and forth, making small sounds like those of a wounded animal. Part of him wanted to quickly replace the card but a much larger part of him wanted to stay exactly where he was, gagging, and heaving but otherwise unmoving. He didn't want to risk that the light would shine on what was down there. He could hear above the sound of his own small noises, a gurgling mulchy sound like mud flowing over boggy ground. It was the stink of death. New death and ancient death and Spencer didn't want to look it in the face. He especially didn't want to look at it in the eye. He shuffled and squelched his way back to the door, but this time sat with his right shoulder pressed against it. He didn't want to face the drain, nor did he want his back to it.

o-o-o

Floyd had washed his face again in the bowl of rust coloured water. He'd finger brushed his hair. He'd picked bits of puke and scabs of only the gods knew what off his hands and clothes and then he left Spencer to sleep and went out for a walk in the bright sun light of the morning. He'd not been out during the day for a while it seemed… The light hurt his eyes and made him squint and forced warm tears out of the ducts. He could feel the light burning and scalding his skin and now today his head hurt and he seemed to be walking with a limp. Despite this, Floyd was feeling slightly over confident and happy. He didn't seem to be aware of the looks he was getting and he'd not noticed the way people ducked back and covered their noses as he walked past them. All he was aware of was a whining in his ears, a pounding in his head… and the damned sun trying to blind him and burn him to ashes where he stood. And that place where he stood right now was in front of a large complex of offices with the word Sheerwater written above it in relief faux stone. It looked impressive and it looked intimidating, but Floyd wasn't going to be intimidated by automatic doors and security cameras and he wasn't going to be intimidated by the _whoosh_ of air conditioning.

The woman behind the desk in the big dark, but cool reception wasn't about to intimidate him either.

She pursed her lips at the man – the bum… walking across the lovely polished marble floor towards her. He slipped a finger under the ledge of the desk and rested it ready against a big red emergency button. She had a feeling she would have to call in extra security on this one. His smell proceeded him and the expression on her face turned from annoyance to disgust. 'We are not a charity.' She snapped at Floyd before he could even speak and tell her why he was there.

He looked at her once dark but now greying hair which was swept back so tight into a bun that it seemed to pull and distort her face. Her mouth was drawn down and wet with pink lipstick and Floyd thought that she looked a bit like a startled fish. 'Beg your pardon?' Floyd muttered and gave an odd little salute. 'I need to talk to someone in charge.'

'There's no one here.' She told him. 'Can you leave please.' It wasn't a question. It was an order.

'You don't understand. I'm sure that someone will want to talk to me. I'm a genetic wonder.'

She snorted a laugh. Actually this creature standing behind the reception desk made her laugh. 'Sir, if you want to talk to someone you have to make an appointment. There is no one available to talk to you at the moment.' And if there was she wasn't going to risk losing her job over showing this stinker into the inner sanctum of the offices.

'Understand totally that you've misunderstood what I mean. What I actually meant to say was that I need back what you took. I will wait here and you will get who I need to talk to about regaining my lost property, because missus I don't want to get angry in here and mess up your pretty hair, but the way it's going I think that might have to happen. Get someone down here _now_ to talk to me or you're going to regret the day your slipped from between your mother's sweaty thighs.' He put his hands on the black shiny reception desk and drew invisible patterns with a finger. At the same time Missus pressed the big red button and Floyd let out a small smile as nothing happened. 'As I said I think they'll be interested in me. I'm a genetic mutant… I've got special powers.' He held his hands up for her to see, but there didn't seem too special to her. 'Get someone. Now!'

She grimaced at Floyd and nodded slowly. She picked up the telephone and dialled a few numbers and then spoke into the phone. 'Police. There is a man here at Sheerwater using threatening behaviour, he's done something to security. I can't get through to them. Please send someone.' She slammed the phone down and this time out from under the counter she pulled out a small revolver. 'Get the hell out of here before I have to claim self defence.'

'You wouldn't.' Floyd snarled.

'You want to try me mister? You have a chance to get your filthy arse out of here before the cops arrive. If you're not moving by the count of two and out of here by ten then I'm opening fire. Get the hell out now! If you want to see someone, go have a damned bath and phone in for an appointment.'

Floyd took a step back. 'You have my liver!' He shouted at her. The gun wavered slightly but was still pointing in his general direction. How he hated guns. He fucking _hated_ them! Fine shoot him in the chest or back or someplace, but get him in the head and he was down… 'Motherfucking whore!' He bellowed, but was backing away. 'I'll be back!'

'Sure you will mister. Get the hell out of here now.'

Well… there you go… Floyd walked from the building then slunk into the shadows as cop cars arrived with lights a twirling like it was fucking Christmas. He pulled back and then turned and pissed against the wall. She'd not intimidated him. No woman would ever do that. It was the sodding gun, and that wasn't intimidation so much as… well self preservation. It had not gone according to plan but it wasn't the end of the world. He'd not given his name. He could clean up if necessary and try again later… but he could feel the pull. He could hear his dear heart swelling with excitement… not the one in his chest but the one in a jar up there on the twelfth floor… it had called to him… _Come to me… rescue me… devour me_ and his liver had said… _About fucking time you stupid wanker_… but he'd never gotten on with his liver as much as he had his dear heart.

Time to go now and find Sammy-boy. There must be record of him somewhere. He had to be somewhere. The boy couldn't just disappear. This was something he couldn't do alone though. He needed Spencer out there digging around for him and Spencer was back home in the pit. Floyd wondered if Spencer had awoken yet… He hoped so. The delight in imagining Spencer crawling around in that cell was rather nice. It made Floyd feel all tingly and happy.


	10. Chapter 10

10

_The mouth may lie, alright, but the face it makes nonetheless tells the truth ~ Friedrich Nietzsche._

Child Services were at the rescue for Sam. They demanded that Sam had an adult with him when he was interviewed. They said this was illegal and damaging to the poor boy who had obviously been through a lot of pain, stress and not to mention absolute terror. It was thus agreed that a Mrs Andrews could sit with Sam and make sure that nothing was said or done which could then be thrown back in their faces. As yet they had no actual evidence that Sam had done anything but what he'd said. The matter of the bed was a puzzle and the knife also, but that didn't prove that Sam _had_ taken the knife. And for now, Sam was denying that little nugget as something he'd done.

Again the police talked to Sam. This time it was in a more comfortable room, with padded chairs and a less interrogative feel about it. Sam had been given a sweatpants and Tshirtto wear and though he was unhappy about looking like a chump, he sat quietly next to the young social worker and tried and tried to get into his head what happened.

'I might not have been in bed.' Sam muttered. 'Sometimes I lay on the floor next to it. I just don't like to admit that, because it goes back to the days when I was with Iolanda and the thought that what he did is that ingrained in my psyche is sort of depressing, but maybe that night I slept on the floor. I honestly can't remember, but if my bed hadn't been slept in then I guess that's what I did.' Sam kept his eyes down on his lap. 'I remember I woke up and my feet were cold, and I was a bit hungry and wanted a piss and I could see light under the door, so I assumed someone was out there and I opened the door and I saw Sally laying on the floor. The light was on in the hallway. I didn't touch her… I remember thinking that I must not touch her and there was a lot of blood, so I stepped carefully over her and I went to their bedroom.'

He was stopped at that point. 'You've told us what you saw, can you tell us what you felt?'

'Cold. My feet were really cold and my hands were cold. The air felt sort of fresh and sharp. Do you know what I mean? The sort of cold that makes your nose run.'

He was stopped again. 'Sam, I want you to tell me what you were thinking at this point, before you opened the bedroom door. You are standing in a lighted hallway with a bleeding body behind you. What were you thinking?'

Sam looked a bit confused. He wasn't sure what the man wanted him to say. He didn't know what the correct answer was here. 'I was scared.' He muttered. 'I was… I thought it was… I didn't know.' A sniff. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and looked up. 'At that point I just wanted to find John.'

'You didn't think that John might have done this? You weren't worried that the murderer was in the bedroom?'

Sam licked his lips in a quick pink sweep of his tongue. 'John wouldn't have hurt Sally. I couldn't hear anything. I didn't think there was anyone in the other bedroom and so I pushed the door open, cos it was only open a few inches.'

'And tell me exactly what you saw.'

'There was a side lamp on and I could see their bed was messed up, like Sally had jumped out of bed quickly and I could see… I don't know. I could see John and so I went around the bed and I grabbed him and shook him… and then I realised that I could smell a lot of blood and I touched his face and his skin was warm and wet and I grabbed his shoulders and shouted at him to wake up. The light from the lamp wasn't very bright, but as I shook him I could see that he was dead.'

'Good. You walked into the room, shook John… then what?' The cop though gave his partner a glance and Sam didn't like that glance one little bit.

'I ran from the room and I saw Sally again and I wondered maybe if she was alive and so I turned her over and I could see the cut in her neck and I knew she was dead… and so I ran… there was a telephone in the hallway so I ran down the stairs and grabbed the phone and called for help… and he just _appeared_ from the dark. I don't know if he followed me or if he was downstairs and I saw the knife and I tried to fend him off and I felt him cutting me and he stabbed at me… and I was shouting for help and I was screaming down the phone and he stabbed me again, and then I fell backwards and the woman on the phone was talking to me… I tried to grab the phone again but it fell off the wall.'

'Good. Very good. Now that's what happened. That's what you describe as happening, but we want to know what you were feeling at that time. Did you feel cold still? Did you feel afraid?'

'Of course I was afraid! The bastard was stabbing me!'

A few nods. 'And did you drop anything in the hallway, Sam?'

Sam frowned. 'Drop something? Drop what?'

'You left bloody fingerprints on the floor next to your bedroom door.'

Sam looked blank. 'I have no idea. I can't remember. I don't think so, but I might have slipped and touched the floor for balance or something? I really can't remember.'

'You remember everything very clearly, Sam. I would think you'd remember if you fell over in the hallway.'

Sam shifted the way he was sitting. 'Well I don't remember. I don't know. I have no idea. Are you sure it was my fingerprints?'

'They must have been yours. Didn't you say that the assailant was wearing blue gloves?'

'But he might have put them on afterwards.'

More nods. 'Well we don't think that's quite what happened. But maybe you'll remember later? What can you tell me about the house… a normal night at that house? Did they lock all the windows and doors, Sam?'

'Always… usually… I don't know. I suppose so. Maybe. I had my window locked and the front door was locked and bolted.'

'Rear exit?' The cop asked.

And again Sam licked at his lips and he could feel sweat dripping down the side of his face. He rubbed at his nose again and shrugged. 'I guess it was locked too.'

Nods… those fucking nods! Sam wanted to staple their heads to the wall to stop that bloody nodding of the head.

'The problem we have, Sam is that there is no evidence that there was anyone in that house apart from you and the Greens. Your fingerprints are on the rear exit door handle. Your fingerprints are on the door of the Green's bedroom. Your fingerprints on the telephone and on the knife. The intruder must have been very careful, don't you think?'

'I guess.'

'Did you open the back door and let someone in?'

'No.'

'Are you sure of that? You say you have nightmares. Do you sleepwalk?'

'No.'

'How did the murderer get hold of a knife which Sally thought you had?'

'I didn't have it until it was stuffed in my chest! I didn't take the fucking knife! She probably took it outside for some damned reason and left it there. I don't know! I didn't take the knife. I didn't hurt them! Why the fuck would I hurt them! They were good to me! They were nice people.'

'Nice people who said they were afraid of you. They reported that you had violent outbursts. That you have sexual perversions. They were scared of you. Are you sure that…'

'Enough.' Suddenly the social worker spoke up. 'Either accuse him of something or stop this now.'

'Are you sure…' The cop ignored Mrs Andrews and carried on. '…that you didn't make sexual advances towards John? Are you sure that you didn't try something like that as he slept?'

Sam bounced to his feet. 'Are you mad? Why would I want to touch John? You're sick!'

'It says in the written log made by the Greens that you _rubbed your erect penis against John's leg when he arrived home from work. You masturbated at the dinner table and you constantly _accidentally_ brush your hand against John's pants._'

Mrs Andrews stood and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. It was instantly brushed off by Sam who stood staring at the cop like he was something that had just dragged himself out of a pile of turds.

'We had a look at your recent purchases from your shopping trip. We've had a look at your browsing history on the laptop you had access to. Now sit down and maybe you can enlighten us as to why a sixteen year old boy would want to dress like a female whore.'

Sam threw himself back onto the soft chair he'd been sitting on. 'Fucking homophobic motherfucking cunts.' He hissed. 'Just because I'm a fag doesn't mean that you have the right to suppress my inner nature. And for your information the girls love to see a boy dressed like that. I'd get the fag-hags throwing themselves at my feet, but that's irrelevant because I'm bi. I'll fuck boys or girls.' He slapped his hands over his face and shut up.

'You are sixteen.' The cop told Sam as though he didn't know. 'Sodomy…'

'Blah fucking blah! It's against the fucking law – I fucking know that, so why are you sitting on your arses telling me I killed someone because I have pink boots and some new underwear. Why are you not out there finding out who raped me? Huh? Because a pair of pink boots doesn't make me a murderer.'

'Did John ever touch you or make suggestions…'

'NEVER!' Sam howled at them. 'Never, ever! He was happily married to Sally! What the fuck are you suggesting? Why is this all dragged down to some nasty perverted level. I like pink boots. Someone stabbed John and cut Sally. Those things are _not_ connected. And sure I like to dress up. Who doesn't like to look good, but I'm too damned scared to leave the house so where the _fuck_ do you think I'm going to go dressed like it. It was simply for my own damned pleasure and there is nothing at all illegal in that! Nothing at all. And yes I signed up for the gay porn channels but it was just to wind them up. I never actually watched any of it and I never got a vibrator from the shopping channel and I didn't get my damned butt plugs either. I've done nothing wrong except it seems, not to be a corpse.'

Then with a horrible twist of information Sam thought that his world was going to fall into a dark hole.

'We have located your legal guardian, you'll be pleased to know. He is going to come and collect you and take you to a hotel he's booked in to. You can go with him, but you are not to leave the city. Do you understand. You will be needed for more questions.'

'My guardian?'

'A Mr Louis Iolanda.'

Sam bounced once again to his feet and shook his head. 'You've got to be fucking kidding me. He's the one who's abused me and held me captive most of my life. He's the one who put these scars on my back! You can't send me to him! You can't do that! I don't want to go with Iolanda! He will kill me! He will sell my body for profit! You can't… Woman…' Sam turned to Mrs Andrews. '…tell him he can't! I'll go with you. Fuck I'll tell you that I slit Sally's throat if that'll help but I'm not going to go any fucking where with fucking fuck… fucking Iolanda.'

The cops nodded. They'd been warned that Sam was a trouble boy and that his father was dead and now his uncle was the man who would care for him. Iolanda had explained that Sam made wild accusations because he was – frankly – a suffering soul who just needed attention and stability. He needed boundaries and he needed to know what time food was going to be put on the table. It was simple things with Sam and his shock tactics of the sexual advances and the filthy language didn't mean that he didn't love the boy, for his brother's sake… yes he would take care of Sam. He had booked into a nice hotel with a double suite. They had their own rooms, but a shared lounging area. There was even a hot tub… it was going to be relaxing and hopefully Sam would finally be able to realise that the world wasn't against him. The world could be a lovely place. Iolanda just needed the chance to prove it to Sam…

Sam was removed from the police station in silent stunned panic. He could see the man who he knew was going to beat him to death and trample his bones to a mush. He could see him just standing there like butter was his favourite friend. Sam shuddered and Mrs Andrews grabbed Sam's elbow, thinking that he'd run off. She didn't have her running shoes on today.

'Mr Iolanda.' She put out her hand and he took it and smiled a slightly greasy smile.

'Ma'm. Thank you for looking after Sam for me. You have the address we will be at?'

She nodded and passed over a back pack with Sam's worldly belongings in it and then she passed over Sam who moved begrudgingly towards Iolanda. 'You know he will kill me.' He hissed at her and she patted Sam's arm for comfort.

Iolanda had washed and changed his clothes. He looked, if you didn't look too closely, like a fairly average bloke. There was nothing outwardly or obviously creepy or sinister about him… except maybe for the slight comb over he'd added to his suave look. He had on a dark jacket which wasn't quite big enough to button up, a pair of black pants which were held up with suspenders and a belt. He had on shiny black shoes and a white shirt. Nothing alarming at all really, except it was who it was. Sam knew that he was going to be a murder victim. He knew that he was walking slowly to his death… he would be found mutilated and torn apart in a random hotel room tub. He would end up on the table of a laboratory and he would be sliced and inspected and looked at because this was Iolanda and he had no doubt that this man would do that. He'd enjoy that.

'Why don't you just kill me now?' Sam moaned as he walked to the car.

Iolanda grasped Sam by the elbow. 'In front of witnesses? I'm not that much of a fool. Get in the damned car. You've caused me enough trouble and I'm not going to put up with this constant complaining. You'll do what I tell you, dog, or you're going to be very sorry.'

Sam sniffed and looked over his shoulder at the woman from Children's services. They were meant to keep kids safe, not send them merrily off to their death. Didn't she realise? Hadn't anyone read the notes and his file? Didn't anyone give a shit about him? He got into the car and put on the seat belt and then pulled his feet up onto the seat in front of him. They drove off in silence. Sam didn't bother protesting or fighting this. If he made too much of a fuss they'd clearly see that he was a lot stronger and had a lot more hate and violence in him than he wanted them to see. He wasn't going to have the murders pinned on him.

'You were very stupid. Why kill them?' Iolanda asked his victim.

Sam wrapped his arms around his shins. 'They were going to send me away. I didn't want to go. But they would have sent me anyway. So I made it my choice and not theirs.'

'Idiot. I thought you were better trained than that. Didn't Flanders teach you anything but how to fuck?'

'And he'll come and get you and take me back with him.' Sam snapped back at Iolanda. 'He wont let you get away with this. He's going to

come find me and he'll do dastardly things to your corpse. He'll screw anything.'

Sam didn't much like that smug sound and he didn't much like that even smugger look. 'Sam… poor deluded Sam. He's gone. You know that. You can feel it inside of you. Something is missing. That's your old love… gone. The dogs ate him. I fed him to my dogs… how do you like that huh? You might have thought that you'd escaped me but sweety love… I've been on your tail virtually from the start, though I have to admit that I avoided the snow. Silly boy. You should have known I was around.'

'I could smell you. I could as good as taste you.'

'Poor bunny. It'll all be over soon. And to think I don't have to worry about Flanders walking in on us. What fun! We are going to have such a lark young man.'

'I'll report you.' Sam threatened in a not very sure voice.

'Report me for what? and how?'

'Underage sex and to the cops when then hear my screams of rape.'

'Poor, poor boy. You just don't understand do you? You will do what I tell you and you wont complain any more than that rat of a gargoyle Reid would report Flanders for rape. Not going to happen… and in a couple of years you'll be legal. I'll have that little butt all to myself.'

Sam held onto his legs tighter. 'But you're not… you don't… you hate fags.'

'Yes, you might be right… but I love kids.'

'You creepy fucking pervert.' Sam turned his head and looked out of the window. 'Why can't you just kill me?'

'Because unlike Flanders, I like my meat warm. Now be quiet. I'm already bored with your whining.'

'Well you're going to get very bored then aren't you? Because I can whine and moan for days. I can even do it in my sleep.'

Sam still had his head facing the side window and the punch to the back of his head forced his head to bang off the window and put white stars in front of Sam's eyes. 'Don't threaten me. I can see that a lot of my training has come undone. I don't think it's going to take long to get you back on your hands and knees and being a good little puppy again.'

Sam didn't speak. He sat and looked at his reflection in the window and wondered how someone so good looking could get into such shit and such a small space of time. He wondered why that mega brain of his had let him get in the car with Iolanda. He wondered why he had accepted it so easily and that scared Sam. He didn't want to be jumping whenever Iolanda clicked his fingers, but he thought that maybe he was half way back there already. He didn't have a tantrum. He didn't cause a fuss. He just sat and looked at his reflection and wondered how much longer that beautiful face was going to be living. He reached out and touched the curves of his face in his reflection and was very sure right there and then that he'd never seen anything quite as glorious as what he was looking at. Spencer always said that Floyd was perfection, but Spencer had obviously not looked too closely at him! Now Floyd was gone… maybe Spencer would love him? Maybe Spencer would come and find him and get him away from this hell he was being driven to, though seeing the hotel Iolanda was pulling up at, it didn't look all that hellish. Maybe there was a chance to enjoy this?

'You are my son.' Iolanda told Sam. 'Act like it.'

'Actually I'm your underage fuck bunny…'

'Sure you are.' Iolanda placed a hand on Sam's back. 'And I'm going to enjoy myself. Come now.'

o-o-o

It was the rattling of the chains which brought Spencer back to where he was. He had been mentally drifting around in nice warm comfortable places inside of his mind. Now he was dragged back to the dark and the stink and a rattling in his ear. He moved quickly away from the door and back to the blankets. He kept his head down and heard rather than saw Floyd chain the door locked again. He heard a sharp intake of breath and then there was the displaced air and a fresh outdoors rotting smell as Floyd sat down next to him.

'You moved stuff. I told you to keep your hands off my shit.' Floyd elbowed Spencer hard in the ribs. 'Just don't OK?'

Spencer didn't reply. He pulled a blanket over his knees for a bit more security and gave Floyd a side glance. 'Where have you been?'

'Sheerwater. It's no good. Couldn't even get by the bitch in the fucking reception. What I'm going to have to do is employ a lawyer, or rather you're going to have to employ one and demand back what I need. I'll pay for it out of my fund… don't worry, but you're going to have to do it. Would look a bit odd if it's me huh? Unless… Oh.' He grabbed Spencer's knee. 'Fine! I'll do it! I'll say I am you. I think it's best like that don't you? What's that expression for?'

'I need to go home.'

'You _are_ home.'

'Floyd… I know that you find this comfortable and safe, but I don't and I know my comfort isn't your problem, but I'm slightly concerned that you'll lock me in here and you'll not return.'

Floyd gave that idea a good deal of thought for two whole seconds. 'I'll return.' He snapped. 'Of course I'll return. Why wouldn't I?'

'Iolanda?'

'Fuck him… but… you've made me think of something. I've had this fucking nasty pain in my chest for a couple of days and I wondered… do you have a fucking nasty pain in your chest?'

Spencer shook his head. 'To be frank, the only _fucking nasty pain_ I have is where you've forced yourself into me.'

'Ah hu. Interesting, but you didn't get sympathy pain shit for Sam anyway did you?'

Again Spencer shook his head. 'You think he's alive then.'

'And in such deep shit you'd not believe. I can feel his panic. It's like a warm bucket of shit being thrown over my head. Not nice. And so what I'm going to tell you will come as no great surprise…' Floyd stopped talking and got to his feet. He kicked the messy card over the grate in the ground and then went and washed his hands in the bowl of rusty water. Then slowly he scooped some out with his hands and drank deeply. Spencer sat and waited for what it was that would come as no surprise, but Floyd seemed to have forgotten he'd been talking to him about something. Floyd sat on the cold ground the other side of the drain and peered at Spencer through the light the flashlight was giving off. 'You are stunningly beautiful.' Floyd said. 'Even battered and bruised you are the most beautiful creature… apart from myself obviously. You are perfect. From your hair, to your little nose, those strong white teeth, your height, those hands… damn, those lovely hands that know exactly what to do to me… perfection.'

Spencer blinked but said nothing. Was he meant to tell Floyd how perfect he was too? Well Spencer might well be able to see that lovely face under the grime and dirt, but admit to it? Never… not on his life was he going to give Floyd that. 'What do you want to do about Sam?'

Floyd hugged his knees and shrugged. 'Fuck if I know. I don't have a fucking clue, but I'll feel him if he's in trouble. The pain in my chest though, that was something sharp, stabbing… but shallow and… Impossible to describe, but almost like I was being stabbed with a pen knife or such. Nothing deadly. Not even totally painful, but I could still feel it. It's not you then huh? You've not got pains in your chest?'

'This could just be you… I mean it could be that the heart you have…'

'Yeah… could be I'm dying. Good thought. Anyway, you have no objections to me using your name? The sooner I can get my liver back the sooner I can make some good pate.'

Well that was disgusting, but Floyd was surely going to get his heart too? 'Your heart?'

A shake of the head. 'Thinking I'll maybe not bother. I kind of like how I am.'


	11. Chapter 11

11

Spencer needed to get out of the hole Floyd had him locked in. The thought that no one would miss him or wonder where he'd gone was actually gut wrenchingly horrific. There really was no one who would wonder why he'd not been home. There would be no missed calls on his phone. No one would wonder why his cell was going straight to voicemail. He could die down here and not be found until the buildings were eventually pulled down and then they'd have to identify him by his dental records.

He sat the other side of the hell hole and tried to look Floyd in his eyes, but he couldn't do it. Whenever he was close to making eye contact he seemed to pulled back in panic and find something else to look at. Floyd was just sitting there with his head resting on a rattling pipe doing nothing. He'd not moved or even blinked. He was staring at Spencer with such intensity that Spencer could almost feel the heat building up from it.

'I'm going to Canada.' Floyd suddenly said and bounced to his feet.'

Spencer also got this his feet, pins and needles fired through his numb feet but he ignored that. At last they were leaving. 'Why Canada? How will you get there? They'll not let you in.'

Floyd was walking swiftly to the door but he stopped and turned to look at Spencer. 'Well I've been considering my options.' He rubbed at his cold nose. 'There is something going on with Sam and that's distracting the fuck out of me. I can't fucking think! I need to recover Sam before I recover the bits of me. I'll decide what to do when I get back.'

'Sam's in Canada?' Spencer walked quickly now towards Floyd. 'How did he get to Canada? How do you know?'

Floyd placed a hand on Spencer's forehead. 'A flash of a something… emotion? Feeling… He's in Canada. Now I can pop on over to Rossi and tell him that I know where Sam is, but that's going to cause ructions which I've no time or want to smooth over, but I don't feel at this present time that dear Dave will be of much help. Therefore I need to go alone.'

'With me… alone with me you mean.' Spencer could feel Floyd's clammy hand pressing against his forehead and fingertips sliding up into his hair. Then when the other hand rested on Spencer's shoulder the full horror of what Floyd was going to do swept through him. 'Please, Floyd… don't.' He rested one of his own hands over the one Floyd had on his shoulder.

'I could snap your scrawny neck so easily.' Floyd breathed rank breath over Spencer's face. 'You are quite lovely to look at, but… maybe… I dunno. I'm going to have to think about it, but Babes, you're not coming with me. I'm afraid that you will try to disentangle yourself from my company and just as I've made my mind up to go and look for Sam – a matter you failed to take into your own hands when you had the chance – well Babes, I'm not going to release you into the public. You think I'm totally mad?' He dropped his hands away from Spencer, allowing one finger to draw a line down Spencer's chest. 'A farewell kiss?' Fingers slipped behind Spencer's waistband and dragged him closer. 'I really am glad that I am free from whatever it was that pulled me to you in the first place. I don't know how I managed to keep going with you hanging there around me constantly. Spencer… I will be gone a few weeks, I'd judge. You will be safe here.'

'No…' Spencer whispered back. 'Please… please don't leave me here. There's no food. There's no water. I'll die Floyd. You can't leave me here to die!'

'There is food enough if you care to look for it. Depends on how hungry you get I suppose. There is running water and a bowl to wash in. I will advise you to use the drain to empty your bowels and bladder or the place will begin to smell. You'll be fine.'

'The flashlight… it will – the batteries will die. And there _is_ nothing here to eat.'

'Well I can't let you go, Spencer. I can't take you with me… and you don't want me to kill you. What other options are there?'

'Take me with you! I'll help you. I'll be a go between. They wont think it odd that I'm looking for Sam, but they _will_ think it odd that you are.'

'Very true, which is why I've got this really good fake ID. I have officially stolen your identity for a while. No one is going to ask anything. It's going to be alright. I'll be back as soon as I can.'

'You are leaving me to die!'

Floyd now stepped back away from Spencer. 'Please, get over yourself. You're nothing. You're a pretty stone in a pool of many pretty stones. I can pick another like you anywhere. I've given you a choice. Take it! You're lucky I'm feeling so generous. There are a million good looking whores out there, Spencer. You're not special.'

'A choice? What choice?'

'I can snap your neck here and now or I can leave you alive. Pretty obvious options. I know which I'd go for if I was in your situation.'

'You can't leave me here to die!' Spencer wailed at him.

'And why the fuck not! You left me to Iolanda! You walked out and let me be mauled and eaten by damned hounds! Why can't I walk out and leave you? Answer me! Stop pulling that fucking face at me because I'm really not convinced by that pathetic look your giving me!'

'You told me to leave!'

'Oh! And that means I meant it? I wanted to have you at my side! Maybe… maybe not. It doesn't matter now. That's gone. It's over. I'm off. Have fun. Don't touch my shit and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Give me three weeks.' The chain was now being pulled off the door and was dangling in Floyd's hand with the large chunky padlock hanging at the end of it.

'What do you want from me? What do you want? I'll do anything. I'll do anything you want. Please… Floyd…'

The padlock flew on the end of the chain, smacking Spencer on side of the head and then curling around the back of his head to catch him between the eyes. Spencer flailed back, slipped on the cardboard and sat down with a hard but squashy sigh of stink. 'What do I want you to do? I want you to sit here and slowly rot. I want you to spend time thinking about what you've done. You've destroyed me and I'm very good at reciprocating that sort of thing. I want you to struggle. I want you to see what it's like to be trapped in hell. I want you to die slowly… Is that what you wanted to hear?' The door was being opened and Floyd was walking through, snapping the chain to his side again with a flick of the wrist. 'Wish me luck. The quicker I get there the quicker I'll be back.'

The door slammed and the rattle of the chain let Spencer know that Floyd had locked it again.

The next hour was taken up with Spencer trying to get the door open, screaming for help, hammering and kicking at the door… then he slumped to an exhausted heap on the floor and actually slept for a while. Again his dreams taking him to nice places with nice people. A world where he had people who would miss him…where he was actually loved.

o-o-o

Sam kept his cool for quite a while. It actually seemed that apart from the punch on the back of the head, that life might have actually taken a good turn. The hotel was fabulous. The suite was wonderful. Iolanda stood on the balcony and smoked and left Sam to explore his new world. They both knew that Child Services would be checking up on them and they both knew that the cops would have more questions, but for now at least Sam was able to relax.

In his room there was a huge king sized bed and a lovely dressing table with lights around the mirror. Sam sat there with a hair brush and tamed his wild mane. He inspected his complexion and looked deeply into his own eyes. The initial fear of being with Iolanda was virtually gone. He was wondering what he'd been so worried about in the first place. It wasn't as though the cocksucking bastard could hurt him all the time Child Services were involved… he was quite sure of that… The actual matter that Child Services didn't seem to give a shit and had handed him over to Iolanda in the first place didn't come to Sam's mind for now. He was going to make the most of a very bad situation and try to do what the bastard wanted of him… as long as it wasn't too degrading – but even that probably wouldn't stop him. You'd have to go pretty low for something to feel degrading for Sam. He pulled his hair back into a neat pony tail and smiled at his reflection. There was no doubt that Sam would, if he could, have himself. It was almost a shame that he was this good looking because it meant he could only see himself if he had a mirror. He picked up a small circular plastic pot and unscrewed the lid. It was lotion to rub into his pretty face and keep his skin looking good, though Sam had a better home made option, this smelt nicer than his own man juice. He had his eyes closed and his head tipped back slightly when something tugged on his hair.

'Happy?' Iolanda spoke from behind him.

'As happy as a butterfly.' Sam replied, but his eyes were wide open now and Iolanda was pulling back tighter on Sam's hair. He felt the man's breath over the skin of his throat, but dared not move. He dared hardly to breathe. What happened next though filled Sam with so much despair and horror that he let out a wail of grief. Iolanda sliced through Sam's pony tail and dropped it onto the dressing table in front of him. Sam's head flopped forward and he sat there staring at the hair which used to be his crowning glory.

'You need a haircut. I'm not having a boy of mine walking around looking like some fucking queer boy. Sit still, I'll do it for you.'

Sam swung around on the small red velvet covered stool and lifted a fist. 'You cunt! What the fuck have you done? Look at me!'

'You really want to risk hitting me, dog? Give it a try. I'd love to see it. Turn around and let me finish what I've started. You're going to look like a lovely young boy… not some street walking faggot queen.'

Sam turned around again. The only thing he could look at was the hair still tied with the small pink bit of elastic sitting there on the dressing table. It wasn't him anymore. It wasn't part of him. It was like he'd lost who he was all over again. His hair and his look had been his identity and now with every snip of he scissors it was dissolving and Sam was becoming a no body. He cried heaving sobs. He dripped snot over his slightly open lips and onto his chin. Big fat hot tears rolled down his cheeks but he didn't say anything. There were no words in his head to describe what he was feeling. It was like rape, but not of his arse, but of his whole identity and person. He wanted to curl up and hide and never be seen in public again. Iolanda used a smart pair of clippers on the back of Sam's head and around his ears. He snipped his hair short on the top… there was nothing left over the length of half an inch anywhere on his head. He looked like a convict with his pale skin and dark circles under his eyes and now his hair gone. It was maybe the worst thing Iolanda could have done to him. At least that's what he was thinking until the man hoisted Sam out of his chair and directed him to the closet. 'There are clothes for you to put on. Get dressed. We can go down to the small restaurant and have a snack.

Sam was already shaking his head before he'd opened the closet door. He was going no where with his hair like this. He just hoped to the gods that there was a hat somewhere he could pull on over the mess his scalp was now in. There thoughts of his hair died though when he looked at what was in the closet.

'You're having a laugh.' Sam snorted as he looked at the display of clothing. There were beige pants and green and yellow shirts. There were jeans and there were baggy ugly Tshirts in colours of brown, green… and all the colours of shit you can get in between. 'Where are my own things?' Sam's hand swept over the vile things there waiting for him.

'They _are_ yours. As I said, you're going to look like a normal kid. Not some faggotty ho. Get dressed. I'm hungry and I'm not leaving you here alone when you are obviously still so distressed.'

'Distressed? This isn't distressed! This is fucking horrified! I can't step out there dressed in this shit! I just can't! You can't fucking make me! I'm not doing it.' But as he was talking he pulled out a pair of chino pants in a light brown and a darker brown shirt with short sleeves and a small pattern of dots over it. 'Why is everything in shades of shit?' He moaned and threw the things onto the bed.

'Because you are a shade of shit. I thought you needed to match your clothing. Get dressed. Move it!'

'Motherfucker.' Sam sniped. He knew that Iolanda dare not hit him. He would report it and then there would be big, big trouble, but for all of his knowledge of what he could and couldn't get away with, Sam was wrong. Iolanda dragged Sam to the bed, sat across his hips and looked down at him.

'So many lessons gone from your stupid head. Now I know you're not a moron.' Iolanda reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. 'I'm not wrong about that, but I do want to know why you're being so foolish.'

'You're hurting my stitches.' Sam moaned.

'_Poor_ love.' Iolanda pulled up Sam's Tshirt and looked at the stitches in his chest and stomach. 'You're healed already. Isn't it great having such wonderful genetics?' He lit up the cigarette. 'Can you remember how much these things hurt when I prod you with them? You must still have scars on your arms…I can't see them because you're covered in bandages. Take them off. I want to see the mess your arms are in.'

Sam lay doing nothing. He thought that his heart had stopped beating. Slowly he lifted his arms and pulled at the dressings until they were a tangle on the bed next to him. He then held out his arms for Iolanda to see. There were the remains of old track marks, cuts new and old, and small round scars from the tip of cigarettes. 'Please don't.' Sam whined. 'It really does hurt like a bitch and I don't want to be hurt. Please, I'll behave and stop complaining. I'll do what you want me to do. I'll wear the horrible clothes and pretend to be nice. I will…You fucker! You bastard!' Sam's hand went to the place where his loving _uncle_ had just pressed down the glowing end of his unfiltered smoke just under Sam's left nipple. 'You didn't need to do that!'

'I did. You know I did. I had to remind you what a cunt I can be when I want. You have to remember who is in charge here. Get dressed. Get ready. Be a normal damned boy. Don't show me up and I'll not have to hurt you again.'

'I'll fucking show the social worker!' Sam rolled off the other side of the bed as soon as Iolanda was off him.

'You want me to shave you bald?'

'I hate you!' Sam snatched the clothes off the bed and started to get changed. 'And I don't want you standing there watching me get dressed.'

Iolanda didn't move. He slowly smoked and like Floyd would have done, be flicked ash onto the floor. 'But I'm a nasty creepy pervert who loves to see young boys with their pale smooth naked bodies.' Iolanda licked his lips.

'God… you're repulsive.' Sam did up the buttons on his pants which were a bit too big and needed a brown plastic belt to hold them up.

'You've been spoiled by Flanders. You used to be a tough little shit… now you're nothing but a nasty spiteful child. You need to grow up, Sam. Wise up. Start using that brain of yours. You are mine. You can't escape me. Flanders no longer exists and I am your loving uncle.'

Sam buttoned up his shirt and let out another wail of despair when he was told to tuck his shirt in. 'Ohhh… for… for… OK!' He tucked it in and stood there looking like a slightly nerdy skinny sixteen year old. All he needed now was a pair of ugly glasses to put on his nose and he wasn't going to suggest that to Iolanda. Sam turned and looked in the mirror and let out a slightly surprised sigh. He might have had his hair ruined and he might be wearing some of the ugliest clothes he'd ever seen, but damn… he was still beautiful

They had lunch. Sam pulled apart a sandwich but didn't eat it. He had a thick milk shake and a bowl of ice cream and he watched his uncle sitting there sneering at him and making him feel like he was an inch tall. Sam had smiled at the girl who served them and instead of getting a smile back or even a surprised grin, he got nothing. It was like she didn't even see him sitting there dressed as a turd. 'What are we going to do? Are we going back to The States or just going to mooch around Canada until they find out who you really are and behead you for crimes going back to the tenth century?'

Iolanda sipped on his coffee and pushed his plate away. He'd had a stack of pancakes with syrup and Sam could see why the man was so fat and unhealthy looking. 'You keep mistaking me for Flanders. I've done nothing illegal. I've not got a whole Federal building dedicated to my crimes…. The Flanders Wing – how quaint. We will remain here until we have sorted out the business with the Greens and then return home. Much as I love this comfortable living, I believe that it makes one soft. Don't you?'

'I like hot baths and I like to look good.' Sam sighed.

'One sob story after another. You will get what you deserve. Eat up. We have a meeting to attend.'

'A meeting?' Sam looked puzzled. 'The Child Care people aren't coming back till tomorrow. Is it the cops?'

Iolanda leaned over the table and spoke at Sam. Sam could taste the pancakes on Iolanda's breath. 'No, hun… I'm seeing how much I can get for you. I have contacts here in Canada and some would be more than willing to take a troublesome arsehole like you off my hands. I'm going to see what sort of price range I'll get for you. Don't worry… no sale is going forwards yet. There are things I want to have done to you before we get down to the real business… but how do you fancy moving to… well… Mexico or Brazil?'

Sam shook his head slowly. 'You're thinking of selling me?'

'I'm making enquiries.' Iolanda patted the side of Sam's face 'And you screamed my name out and told them I raped you… they still handed you back to me. Do you think that they'll believe I'm going to sell you to some slave trader on the other side of the world? You'll get a good price when you're ready though. Hurry now. Don't want to be late.'

Sam stuffed the rest of the ice cream down himself and picked up the drink. 'You're fucking unbelievable. You can't get away with this. You can't do this. You can't just sell me….'

'To the highest bidder on the night? Of course I can… It's how I make my living. I just didn't think I'd ever bother with you, but you're too much trouble. I'd rather have the cash than the worry that you're going to break away again. Let that be someone else's problem.'

'Why didn't you leave me to the authorities? If you don't want me around you could have just gone home.'

A bright loving smile from Iolanda. 'Firstly you're my kin and I felt I should come forwards. Secondly you are Flanders' spawn and I want you broken. And you will be broken. I would have destroyed everything he ever had or loved. That's why.' He took Sam's arm and directed him out of the restaurant, through the lobby and out to where someone had already collected his car for him.

o-o-o

Spencer tried pulling the door just enough to get his fingers around the edge… just enough so he could shout out of a gap, but the door didn't budge. He couldn't tell how the passage of time was going. He had absolutely no idea and so he crawled to the dripping pipe and counted carefully how many drips to the count of one hundred. He then tried to figure out how many that would be an hour and then he looked at the bowl and wondered how many drips it would take to fill the bowl. At least it would give him a time frame, even if that time had no connection with the outside world. Really the outside world didn't matter any more. His whole world was this small stinking room. He let some of the water drip onto his fingers and then sucked it off with the greed of a dying man and stopped himself from doing it again. He had to keep control of things. He sat looking at the bowl and the way a circular ripple pattern made its way out from the place the water fell into the bowl. That was his clock from now on. That was his time marker. He noted a small lump of something (a dead spider maybe) stuck to the inside of the bowl and Spencer decided that he would turn the flashlight off and check later. If the water was on or above that dead thing, then he'd turn the flashlight on properly. He sat next to the bowl with the rubber flashlight between his bare feet and his head resting on the pipe and he tried very hard to relax again. Just to stop his body from going into a panic. He had to above all else not lose his mind over this imprisonment.

He thought maybe he'd fallen asleep for a short while. He woke up with a pounding headache and a spine that felt as though someone had hammed red hot pins into it. He felt his face and that too was burning and hot, but he was wrapped around himself shivering, his teeth chattering and his toes curled up so tight that they seemed to be trying to withdraw into his feet. His stomach didn't ache so much as feel as though someone had poured lava into it, via his throat which was closing up as he lay there shivering in a fever.

He managed after many a false starts, to turn the flashlight on. The marker on the bowl was still a long way up from the water level, but Spencer didn't care. He needed to get to the blankets. He wanted to curl up in them and feel the lovely warmth of the woollen softness. Of course the scratchy lice and flea ridden comfort was what he actually received, but he turned off the flashlight and closed eyes which felt swollen and sticky and was asleep again before he heard the scuttle of a rat moving fast over the floor. Spencer didn't feel it run over his hand and up his arm. He didn't feel the large and well fed rodent sniff at his ear or lick nose at the much around his eyes. Spencer didn't feel it move over him as though doing a reconnoitre before calling in the troops.

There were more scuttling sounds, but Spencer didn't hear them and he saw nothing. If that was the food Floyd had told Spencer about, the he'd slept through all the excitement. He woke up four hours later feeling itchy and sore. His right eye didn't seem to want to open and his breathing was harsh and painful. Spencer's nose was blocked and his sinuses full of puss. His face felt like a horse had kicked him and his throat was closed up enough to cause him a bit of panic.

He turned on the flashlight and made his way very slowly, on his hands and knees to the water. He thought about drinking directly from the pipe but firstly he dipped his burning hot hands into the water. He thought he'd hear them sizzle and see steam… the effect was wondrous though. The cooling effect on his hands was so great that Spencer pulled his hands out and dipped his head down… he took in sips of water as it lapped around his face and then he took in huge gulps. The taste was vile, but maybe that was part of the fever telling him that. It tasted stale and rotten. It tasted of Floyd's dirt and blood and of the rotting stink he was sitting in. He finally sat back and let the water drip off his chin, his body still burning and raging with heat and his limbs shaking and his teeth chattering as though he was sitting in ice and not the obvious fire. By the time he had awoken again he felt like his body was never going to belong to him again. He could barely open either eye and he was sure that his tongue was beginning to swell. He had to get out of this place and as the door was securely locked there was only one other way out.

Spencer moved very slowly. He crept forwards on his hands and knees. Each movement sent a shock wave through his body. Even through all the beatings he'd taken from Floyd in the past he didn't think he'd ever felt this ill before. He'd been in better condition many times when stuck in a hospital with monitors checking that he was still alive, but now with tears again running down his how swollen face he prodded at the cardboard. The thing was that if he didn't do something quickly he might not have the strength or the will power to do it later. He could feel with every small move he made a large chunk of strength sliding out of him. Slowly he picked away at the stuff on the floor, gradually revealing the ugly stinking drain under it. Floyd had told him not to touch his stuff, but damn… he'd be dead if he just sat there and let this happen. He was already half dead and he'd not been here a day… maybe… it was hard to tell.

He felt suddenly so pathetic that he wanted to crawl back to the blankets and just die. This was totally pointless. He had moved all of the soggy card away and no couldn't face looking down the drain to see if it was even a way out. He moved the flashlight so that there was no chance of accidentally seeing what was down there and put his hands over his face and allowed himself to cry. It was a luxury he didn't know when he'd get the chance again.

He loved Floyd.

That was the basic reason for the tears now. He loved Floyd more than he knew how to express and he'd grieved and raved and even sent weak prayers that Floyd would come back to him and his prayers were answered. How many people can say that? Honestly how many. Prayers are usually answered in a way that whatever was asked for would happen anyway, but praying for someone to come back from the dead? It was ridiculous but it had happened and this was what it had led him to… A stinking hole in the ground with smells only a horror movie could conjure up for you. The very stink of this place had made him ill; was killing him, and he didn't think it was slowly either. That didn't take from Spencer the loss he was feeling. Floyd, his physical form was back. But Floyd the man he loved was gone. Floyd had left him here to die. He wasn't watching him suffer from the shadows. He wasn't keeping a mysterious eye on him as he struggled. Floyd had actually gone knowing that there was no food and only rank poisonous water. The man he loved so much and so deeply wasn't hurting him for fun or pleasure… he was doing it purely out of malice. And Spencer thought that hurt more than the beatings, more than being tied up and raped, more than being drugged and abused and scared shitless. This was likely the end. He'd never trust the man again.

The Floyd he had loved was gone. This was a cheap and tarnished copy. Spencer didn't love this Floyd and oddly this allowed him to slip back into grieving mode and mourn what he'd lost.

With a deep sigh and trying to keep his mind on the job and trying to remember that who had done this to him wasn't the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he pulled over the rubber flashlight and shone it down the drain. He dropped the light, let out a howl of shock and pulled back, scrabbling at the light and wishing he'd never looked. Now he knew… he knew what he'd seen… and covering that in piss drenched card wasn't going to make it go away. He moved right back away and pressed his back against the wall… all self pity for his own miserable state was gone and though he'd squeezed his eyes shut that rotting maggot covered face looking up from down the drain was still there bright as a clown down a storm drain and it wasn't going away and it wasn't going to give Spencer his paper boat back.

The tears burnt as they tumbled down his face. The small noises he was making sounding like an animal trapped in a snare… they were muffled with the snot and tears and the swelling in his throat and now he started coughing… lightly at first and then louder and harder. It felt as though his throat was tearing to shreds. It felt as though his lungs would never get a fresh lot of air in them… he heaved forwards trying to take a breath, but each time a fresh spasm caught him and the stuff he was spitting up onto the floor was thick and green, with strings of blood mixed in with it.

'Oh dear god.' Spencer moaned. 'Please… please come back for me.' The stuff coming out of his nose wasn't snot… it was thick dark yellow puss oozing from his sinus cavities. He wrapped his arms around his head and rocked slowly back and forth. The physical pain forgotten now that emotional pain was at such a high…

'I've seen worse.' He tried to tell himself. 'I've see dead bodies before. I can move it. I can move the body and then climb down there.' He pulled on his sneakers but still didn't go back to the drain yet. There was a small bit of hope drifting through his mind now. If Floyd could get a head down the drain, then the drain covering could be moved. It wasn't impossible. He didn't want to think that the head had washed down there from a drain further along. That wouldn't do. He would accept that.

He waited for the shaking to calm down slightly and got his teeth under control and then moved forwards slowly. He knew what was down there. He didn't have to look again just yet. Firstly he would have to get the grate off the hole and see if it was going to be big enough to climb down. He shuddered and stretched out his fingers, moving them slowly around the edge of the slimy drain. There didn't seem to be a lock or any hinges and so he got into position, wiped at his sore nose, spat out some of the muck he'd been coughing up and wrapped his fingers around the edge of the drain. The tips of his fingers brushed against something and bile rose rapidly up from his stomach to the back of his throat. He waited, unmoving until he had control again and now pulled upwards on the drain.

It came away easier than he'd thought it would. He flew backwards with the drain grate in his hands, falling onto his back and scraping his spine over the rough floor. The grate bounced off the wall just behind his head and Spencer just about had time to think how lucky he was not to have hit his head, when the drain cover landed on his face and sent him to dream land for a while.

o-o-o

Another hotel. Another posh suite of rooms. This time a small group of middle aged men stood around looking shifty and dishonest. Sam almost laughed at the scene. It was like something out of a second rate movie. He stood obediently at Iolanda's side. These people looked somewhat dangerous and Iolanda for now was Sam's only protection. The men, five not including Sam and Iolanda stood with hands in pockets and frowns on their faces as Sam was pushed gently forwards. All humour of the situation was removed from Sam when a very tall and very dark skinned man waved a hand at Iolanda as though to dismiss him.

'This is a joke?' The man's voice was as deep and dark as his skin. He walked forwards and grabbed Sam under the jaw and lifted his head up so that he could see his face. 'This is a joke.' This time it wasn't a question and the man's hand moved to Sam's left wrist where he pulled his arm out straight and twisted it to show the many marks on his inner arm. 'It's a junky, Louis… a common junky. This is no use to us. How many times do we have to tell you that we wont take something that's going to cost us more in upkeep than it can earn for us?'

'Master Brack, I think you should see him naked. You might change your mind. I've known this one for a while. He's good. Very good.'

Master Brack shook his head. 'A scrawny damned sewer rat runt. Sure I could take him off your hands but the price… well negotiations are going to be swift, if you know what I mean.'

Iolanda knew what he meant. That meant that there would be one offer made – take it or leave it. 'I totally understand your misgivings on this one, but I can assure you, personally, that he's good. Very good. And he's off the drugs.'

Brack turned from Iolanda now and waved a finger at Sam. 'Strip.' He told him and Sam was more than happy to get out of the nasty clothes Iolanda had given him. He kicked off the sneakers and dropped his pants in one swift movement. He then turned around and unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor behind him. He was expecting gasps of wonder and got laughter. 'Turn around boy.' And Sam slowly turned around, unsure of what was so amusing about his butt. 'Louis, where on earth did you find this? And why the scars?'

'He's kin. My brother's child.'

More laughter… This just wasn't going to way either of them thought. 'Kin? You have a brother? More than one of you managed to mutate from a stain on a bed sheet to a thing that can walk and talk?' And snorts of mirth again. 'The scars are bad. It's damaged goods before it's even left your hands. What did you waste our time for? What was this about? Are you trying to prove something by selling your nephew?'

Sam didn't like this. Iolanda wasn't Floyd's brother and he wasn't Iolanda's kin. He tightened his mouth in annoyance and stared at his toes. He didn't know if he should persuade these people that he was _good_ as Iolanda had put it, or if he should just stand there and take the personal abuse. Sam decided to stay quiet for now and just listen to what these people said.

'When he was a pup he needed a lot of training. He'd been left to run wild. As you can see he's…'

'Fifty.' A voice said from behind Brack.

There was a moment of silence then Iolanda took a deep breath. 'Fifty what, exactly.'

The new voice who wore an expensive grey suit stepped forwards and spoke very slowly and quietly. 'Fifty Canadian Dollars.' The man said.

Sam saw from the corner of his eye that Iolanda was looking at him and then looking at this grey suit. 'I don't understand. Fifty… you want to try him out?'

Oh and it was like Iolanda had just told the biggest and best joke… that sort of joke which would kill you if you weren't a muscle bound thug. It went from man to man like a Mexican wage of joy and then returned to grey suit. 'I'd give you one dollar to try it out… fifty to take him off your hands.'

Iolanda now grabbed Sam by the arm. 'Get dressed.' He hissed at Sam and then looked at the men he'd come to meet. 'I don't know when you began thinking that I was such a joke.' He barked at the room.

'About when you brought this thing in for us to inspect. Louis, Louis, Louis… please… it was funny. It's put me in the mood for a long evening of food and drink, but I'd not put my dick near that nasty diseased freak. Get the hell out of here and if you can't bring us something worth looking at then don't damned well bother.'

'He could work the fields, the mines… he could…'

'We get labour to work for free. We don't have to pay for it and that thing wouldn't last the trip over there. Get out… have a swim or see your therapist. You're losing your mind Louis.'

So they were back in their own suite and Iolanda was pacing a furious trench in the carpet and Sam was standing on the balcony with the view to his back, smoking and watching this man he's been so scared of. 'If you'd not cut my hair.'

'Shut the fuck up whore. You think this is funny?' The pacing paused and Louis turned to look at Sam who was actually looking horribly pathetic. 'You think that you are amusing do you? Want to have a good laugh?'

'You've done your worst. You've abused me most of my existence. You've cut my hair and put me in stupid clothes, but by doing all of that you've made me worthless to the people you were going to off load me onto. I think that's amusing. And you're not Floyd's brother! Where did _that_ come from?'

'Shut the fuck up!' Iolanda shouted. 'You know how close I am to turning you in? I know what you did and I could easily let them know that you confessed.'

'Bollocks will you! You want to torment me and hurt me and keep me close. You had no fucking intention of selling me. You said that from the very start that it was a preliminary meeting. You knew they'd not agree, so don't blame me. It was you who cut my hair and dressed me as a ponce, so don't you go blaming me for shit which you had planned all along.'

Iolanda was looking sweaty and tired when the cops arrived not long after Sam had gone back out onto the balcony to sulk. They had new information and would like to discuss it with someone who had been in the house regularly and Sam seemed to be the only one. They stood staring at the odd sight presented to them… He looked nothing like the kid who they'd talked to at the police station. Sam meekly stepped forwards and smoothed down the front of his shirt. A side glance at Iolanda let him know that he had to be very careful what he said next. What they wanted to know was if there had been any arguments between the Greens.

'Nope.' Sam said and again looked over at Iolanda as though asking his permission to talk. A gesture that didn't go un-noticed by the four detectives standing there.

'Did they seem affectionate towards each other? Did they hug, kiss…'

Sam again looked at Iolanda and then at the cops. 'Not in front of me at least, no.' Again at Iolanda who was bathed in a sheen of sweat now. 'But then I've never really known what it's like to be in a family. I had a family for a short while but Iolanda took them from me. He abducted me and tied me up and beat me half to death… but when I was with Spencer and Floyd there was love and affection.'

'I'm sure!' Iolanda broke out. 'Two adult males and a teenaged boy… show affection… a nice way to put it.'

'And then he set the dogs on Floyd and killed him, but hey, that's OK, send me back to live with him and see what he's done to me? He's turned me into a fuck… in to a… into a freak.' Sam desperately wanted to keep his language mild for now. He wanted to show that he wasn't the mad monster that they thought he was. 'And today…'

'I'm sorry.' Iolanda stepped towards Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Over emotional. He gets confused.'

But the cops maybe didn't look convinced. 'And today he tried to sell me to white slavers in the Castle Hotel… and they laughed at him and told him to go away, so if I suddenly go missing you know where to start looking. Room 697.'

'Shut the fuck up.' Iolanda hissed into Sam's ear. 'They wont believe this fairy story so be quiet.'

Sam moved back away from him and kept on talking. 'Why wont you listen to me? Why wont you believe me! He's a damned monster! He's not my uncle! He's not related to me in any way or form!' And suddenly all hell broke loose. Whatever calm Iolanda had been keeping was gone as he leapt at Sam and kneed him hard between the legs. Sam shut up with his accusations and let out a howl as he crumpled forwards onto the floor gasping for air and pulling his knees up tight to his body. The cops then pounced on Iolanda who put up a jolly good fight, fell over Sam's curled up form and legged it howling abuse to the balcony where he jumped and seemed to just disappear into nowhere.

o-o-o

Spencer took a deep breath, coughed… coughed some more and waited until the pain had subsided. Floyd had asked if he had pains in his chest and at the time he didn't, but now, oh now it was a different thing altogether. The pain was deep and bubbling and his face felt like it was going to explode along with his head which Spencer was sure was so hot that it must have been glowing and giving off radiation. He did though slip his feet over the edge of the drain and with his teeth gritted together he kicked out. He wanted to catch the head and knock it out of he way and his right foot did meet up with something squashy and there was a slight giving feeling before it seemed to roll away.

A slurping groaning splashing sound was heard… part of that was the head falling further into the sewer or whatever was down there and part was the dirty water Spencer had been drinking, coming up past his tongue and over his lips and spewing out in a gush between his slightly splayed legs. 'God… oh god.' He muttered and picked up the flashlight and shone it down where he intended going. There was no point in putting it off. There was no point in saying that it couldn't be done, because Spencer was running out of time and he had no options left. He looped the nylon thong of the flashlight around his wrist, held onto the sides of the drain… and slipped down from hell into something far, far worse.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Spencer crouched and coughed for a while. He knew that he'd have to have a look sooner or later and he knew that this wasn't just trash which had washed down the drains and sewers he was sitting in. The flashlight had dropped from where it had been looped on his wrist, but luck… or maybe some kind of wickedness had made sure that the light didn't go out. It lay there under about a foot of something which could very loosely be called _water_, but water shouldn't stick to your hands and leave tendrils of what looked like green snot hanging from the tips of your fingers. The light down this curved topped tunnel was green and sort of wobbly. It gave of watery reflections on the dripping bricks which lined the place.

Spencer put his hands to his face as the coughing carried on, tearing up from deep inside of him. He could feel his chest struggling for air and his head was light and woozy. He didn't want to pass out. Here, resting on what felt like a corpse was the very last place he wanted to lose consciousness and die. And Spencer was very sure that if he passed out here that would be it. Then End. Thank you for listening. He reached out with one hand and coughed into the other and made a grab for where the flashlight was… It was something else though, something with fingers… something with an opposable thumb. Spencer released his catch and heard it plop back into the murky green water. Maybe he cried out in disgust and maybe it was something else down here that did that, Spencer didn't know, but definitely something moaned a long mournful sound which seemed to bounce back off something and come back to his ears sounding like a dreadful death rattle and cry. This time Spencer looked at where he was putting his hand. Oh he didn't want to, but finding another hand to hold onto would have sent Spencer screaming in the other direction and that was not the way he wanted to go.

The complex of buildings, Spencer figured, would have adjoining sewer systems and the complex of buildings spread out more in one direction than the other. There was little point in running in panic into a cesspit. He had to keep his cool, but first he had to stop shaking and demand that his body did as it should. His face and brain felt as though there were on fire and now it hurt to bend his fingers. This fever, or whatever was going on had taken hold so suddenly and rapidly that Spencer thought that a couple of hours was all he had… at least that was his self imposed time limit in getting out of this place. He wiped this hand over the glass front of the flashlight and got rid of some of the greenish ooze and the with a sigh, pulled his head up and had a proper look around.

He saw the head he had kicked aside, but now it was laying face down. At least he didn't have to look it in the eyes again. Purposefully he didn't look to see exactly what it was he was sitting on. He didn't think that his brain would register it, but it just wasn't worth the risk. He pushed up by pressing his hand against the side of the wall. At least he knew that it was brick. No nasty surprises there. Something cracked and snapped under his foot and something else seemed to slide up between the leg of his jeans and his skin. Something hard, but yet slimy and yielding and all Spencer could think of was that bit of bone Floyd had snatched from his hands. He'd not had a good look at it, but he'd been sure then and that thought was stronger now, that it had been human arm bone… That griping hard feeling came back to his stomach as he snatched up his foot and felt the thing slide away from his leg again, snagging on the lace of his sneakers as it went. He again heard that moaning keening sound and wondered if it was him or some monster down the other end of this place where it was really quite horribly obvious that Floyd had been dumping bodies… There was more than one here. Spencer had to duck down as he walked. The tunnel was about five foot high and so quick movement was impossible. He walked with the flashlight in one hand and the other glancing along the tunnel ceiling as he went. He was making sure that he didn't miss any route out that his eyes missed. So far… So far he wished upon wish that he'd found another way out. There was something which at first Spencer took to being a sewer mutant dog/crocodile from the depths of the darkest places possible, but almost laughed at his own childish stupidity when he saw the lump on the floor, half in the water, suddenly be skinned by the rats running away. 'Rats.' Spencer laughed aloud and then jumped in shock at how loud his voice was and frowned at how hoarse he sounded. But… it was _just_ another corpse sort off floating and sort of laying there. Once there had been long blond hair and Spencer suspected that once there was a face too, but it was eaten away and all that was left was the nest of hair and a bone filled rictus grin. The neck was torn open and yellow and green mould seemed to be growing in what appeared to be clusters of mushrooms around the open wounds. Spencer might have seen worse, but he very much doubted it. He managed with difficulty to step around most of the bloated thing… it had on a white dress with dark flowers on it… low cut, one very chewed and nasty breast was exposed and the dress was tucked up and pushed high so had Spencer felt the desire, he could have looked to see if she had her panties on still. Spencer didn't want to look though and just after he passed the thing he heard the scuttling of the returning rats.

One day soon that would be him. He would be rotting down here and the rats would be nibbling and gorging on him. He was very sure about that. Blessed comfort and relief swept over Spencer though when the light picked up what appeared to be a ladder going up the side of the wall. Shining his light along the tunnel ceiling Spencer could just about see a gap where the ladder went up and hopefully out. Still bent over he moved quicker though. This was what he'd been looking for. He stood which his hands on one of the rungs and licked at his lips as he shone the light upwards. The ladder went up about three foot beyond the tunnel roof and stopped at a large circular manhole cover. He looked back the way he'd come and could see clearly the splayed legs of the half eaten woman, but the actually place he'd jumped down, where the head had been looking at him, that was out of sight. The passageway had curved slightly and Spencer hadn't noticed that… it was in a way alarming at how suddenly claustrophobic it made Spencer feel and yet again it was a relief not to have to try to make out where the head was, bobbing, swirling… It made his brain feel like it was swelling inside of his skull.

The rungs were damp and the lower ones had tendrils of green slime and mossy stuff hanging off it, but higher up where he would have to put his hands it was just damp and maybe a bit rusty. He pulled on the ladder and then carefully stepped on the bottom rung. Nothing squealed and nothing fell away. It seemed firm. A miracle! Spencer allowed himself a small smile as he stepped up onto the next rung. It would only take a few steps up out of the water he had been walking through for the past ten minutes and when his feet were out and he was balanced on the ladder he felt like the gods of good fortune were looking down on him at last. He tried looking up, but with the flashlight dangling from his wrist again it was impossible to see. But carefully he reached up and four rungs in total and his hand brushed on cold metal. At last! At last he could escape from this place which defied description. He placed the palm of his hand on the manhole cover and pushed upwards.

Nothing happened.

Not even anything slightly. Nothing fell on him. No light seeped in around the edges. Nothing moved… It was stuck tight. Spencer moved higher, he put more of his weight against it and still nothing happened. Even contorting himself and wedging his body into the tunnel which dropped from the cover and pushing with his shoulder and then pushing with both shoulders and his back… nothing budged. Nothing happened except Spencer scared himself with the sounds of the effort it was taking.

He slipped back down the ladder. Below his knees his jeans were stuck to his skin with the wet. His sneakers squelched and his head started to throb again as warm puss from his sinus's slipped over his top lip. Spencer stood hunched over pulling in deep stink filled breaths. Again he put his hands over his face, not to hide the tears of frustration but to see if he face had actually started to tear under the pressure of the heat coming off his skin. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to sit and rest but he knew that would be the worst thing to do… and there was nowhere to sit and not get wetter and more slimy than he already was. He pulled the flashlight around in his hand and shone it in the direction he was going. Again it looked as though the tunnel curved slightly and so with his eyes fixed on that point and not on the rats which seemed to be able to run at great speed down a tiny one inch wide ledge, he moved off again.

A Y shaped slit in the tunnels faced him now. He stood and looked down both and neither had anything to cause cries of joy and jubilation. He took the right hand one and kept on going. There seemed to be movement of water here. It rushed against his shins and something white bobbed along towards him. He stood hard to the side and watched a bloated cat sail past him. The fur had once maybe been striped in black and white but it may just have been the rot showing through. He let it go by and then carried on splashing through. At least it didn't seem to smell so bad here. It _did_ stink horribly… and maybe Spencer's nose was blocked and his senses dulled, but he did think that maybe it wasn't as bad. What _was_ worrying him was the total lack of ladders and manholes. He'd had a wild idea that there would be loads of them strung along down here. The imagined one every twenty feet or so leading up to the roads and side alley ways or even into the buildings of this mostly abandoned place, but there seemed to be nothing.

The flashlight flickered. Spencer banged it against his hand and it steadied, but the thought of being here in the dark brought on a fresh lot of shaking, and he _did_ now have to stop and rest and cough and spit muck up into the water. Each breath he took rattled and bubbled. His eyes felt as though they had grit in them and the stuff coming out of his nose in clods of yellow and red didn't – at least to Spencer – look very good… and it was hot… not just warm, but hot thick puss. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and moved forwards slightly.

A shadow on the wall. An alcove? Somewhere to sit and take five minutes out? He moved faster, slipping on things under the water, feeling that the water was now above his knees… and the cold… the ice cold of it… and the smell of a river. That dark fresh earthy smell… maybe or perhaps again it was the excitement of being able to sit and straighten his back. It would be a luxury just to sit!

It wasn't an alcove though… as he got closer he could see that water was gushing out of another tunnel. With a disappointed sigh he shone the light down there…

Flicker

And he banged it on his hand again…

It flickered once again and the settled. The tunnel curved. He couldn't see more than ten foot down there before it curled away into the dark. Maybe there was a ladder just beyond that curve in the wall. Maybe that was the way out? He took a step that way and then shook his head. Regretted the head shake as fresh pain spiked down from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and then with one hand again brushing the ceiling and with his back bent he walked onwards.

o-o-o

The lawyer sat in his expensive office in his expensive suit. The desk was a rather tacky smoked glass, but that didn't mean it was cheap. It wasn't. Baker and Son didn't have cheap and their clients had to pay over large sums of money to keep them in their tacky but expensive life style. He was sitting leaning back on his leather office chair looking at the man sitting the other side.

First glance would let you think that this person was also an expensive dresser. He had on a long slightly fitted black coat. It was double breasted and cinched around the waist with a twist of black leather. It was odd, but not alarming. The client had on battered western style boots which needed a damned good clean and didn't really go with the coat or with the glimpse of tight legged black jeans he had on under the coat. There was a white collarless shirt with the top few buttons undone and this man was wearing black leather gloves. He smiled at Baker and crossed his legs and then smiled some more.

Baker had made a very strange phone call and was awaiting a call back from someone who might be able to help him.

'I've never come across something like this before.' Baker said.

Floyd's smile slipped from his face and he leaned forwards slightly. Baker got a waft of musk and something deeper and maybe sweet. 'Well that's a relief. I'd hate to think that everyone's dearly departed were sold for research without their knowledge.'

Baker tapped a pen on the glass topped desk and Floyd wanted to snatch it out of the idiot's hand and stick it in his eye. He coughed, looked at what he'd hawked up and wiped it on the side of his coat. Baker flinched… he wanted to offer this odd person who called himself Dr Reid – a tissue, but the deed was done now. He didn't want to insult the man. People like this kept Baker in villas in Florida and the occasional snort of cocaine. He tapped at the desk again and stopped when he saw the expression on the client's face. 'They're taking their time.' He muttered.

And Floyd stood. 'Too long. Something is wrong. I'll be going. Obviously you cannot assist me in my dilemma.'

Baker stood too. 'No… nothing is wrong.'

'And you're a mind reader now? If I say that something is wrong, then something is certainly fucking wrong. Don't you bloody well argue with me. I'm the client. You were going to work for me… Don't start telling me what is and what isn't when you have no fucking idea.' Floyd turned and started to walk from the room.

'My apologies sir. Please. I will call them again.'

'Go fuck yourself.' Floyd called over his shoulder just as the door snapped shut again. There _was_ something wrong. Maybe not instigated by Baker. Maybe by Sheerwater… but that wasn't all. Floyd felt _ill_. He felt light headed and sick. He would have removed his coat in the office and taken off the gloves, but Floyd could feel the sweat pouring out of him like his blood was on fire.

He moved quickly out of the main street and into the shadows where he felt safer. Something had happened to Sam. He was sure of it. He could feel disease and rot eating through him like a storm. He'd never felt anything hit with such force so rapidly before. He needed to sit in cold water and try to cool down. The motel he was staying in was an hour walk, but only a few minutes in a cab, so it was a cab he took. He tipped the driver a good amount and told him to forget the passenger he'd just had. The driver nodded happily with his tip and doffed his cap in reply.

Floyd filled the tub with cold water, slipped out of his damp sweat soaked clothes and sat in the lovely cold water. It was wonderful. He could almost hear his blood singing out a thank you to him.

o-o-o

Baker sat and smoked a cigar and then turned on the air con to get rid of the smell. He was annoyed that he'd lost a client because of these Sheerwater people not getting back to him as quickly as he'd wanted, but maybe in a way it was for the best. That Dr Reid had been very strange and seemed to carry an uncomfortable aura with him. Yes a cigar and a drink of whisky was far better. His intercom buzzed. He sighed and pressed it… 'Yes?' He asked the woman who manned the desk out the front.

'It's an Agent Rossi here to see you sir.' She sounded nervous and maybe Baker's reply of…

'Send him on in.' Sounded nervous too. He had no love of the Feds. He had too many clients who wouldn't like that the Feds had been nosing around. He would sue the bastards if they caused trouble. The agent walked in and Baker stood, smiled and took his hand, shaking it in a rough manly fashion. 'Can I help you Agent Rossi?'

'Sheerwater.' Rossi said as he sat himself down in a chair which had only just cooled from Floyd sitting there. Had Baker not had a cigar and turned on the air, Rossi might have picked up on the small smells Floyd left behind, but there was nothing there now. 'You have a client… a Dr Reid.'

'I can't discuss cases with you. You know that.'

'He wanted the heart and liver back from remains at Sheerwater and asked you to recover them for him.' Rossi told him. 'Sheerwater contacted us. They had orders to if someone made enquiries about the remains of Flanders.'

Baker started to tap his pen on the desk. 'He thought something was wrong. He seemed very nervous. Wouldn't remove his coat or gloves, but I could see that he was hot… he looked sick.'

Coat and gloves. That right away didn't sound right. Rossi pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started to flick through some photos he had on there. He stopped on a picture of Spencer a couple of years ago, turned his phone to Baker. 'Was that your client?' He asked.

Baker shook his head. 'No… no that's not him. He was dark haired… almost raven, very dark eyes and a…'

'Wait…' Rossi searched again on his phone… 'What about this?' Again he turned the phone.

'Yes! That's him.' Rossi looked at the picture of Flanders on his phone.

'Son of a bitch.' He muttered. 'Thank you. If he comes again… just tell him you can't assist. And then contact me straight away. You don't have to tell him I'm interested, but Baker… that man isn't Dr Reid.'

'He's not? He had ID… I checked. Passport, drivers license.'

Rossi was now worried. A visit to Spencer's apartment was now needed. And Floyd? How the hell could it have been Floyd? Could it maybe have been a scrubbed up Iolanda? But… somehow Rossi didn't think so. 'Son of a bitch.' He muttered again as he left the building.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Sam

It was the only way I could think to get away from him. It's not like it wasn't true! I have scars and stuff to prove that, but I guess proving it was that fuck Iolanda is a whole different ball game. And I'm not much into sports – but I've watched and enjoyed baseball on occasion because of the kit mainly, not the game. Any man working up a sweat when he's in tight pants is good for me. The closer you can get to them the better… that stink of man sweat and passion – yep, it does it for me. That's not really what I was going to say though. They looked for Iolanda, convinced that they'd find him splattered on the sidewalk or something… Fuck… we're not like on the first floor or something, he _would_ have hit the ground with a thump and smashed his body apart, but there was no sign of him and at first I put on a WTF face and then gave up and just shrugged. Of course the bastard isn't dead! And now other things are beginning to cross my mind… you know? Things which he said and did and how true it actually was.

The cops are up my arse again, but now over my claims that Iolanda tried to sell me and it sounds really pissing stupid if you think about it and I can see by their faces that they don't believe me. They don't believe a fucking word I say and now are on about the Greens again and I've said that I thought I'd explained that and they're telling me that far from it, there's a lot of unanswered questions and I tell them in a loud voice, using profanity by the bucket load that I've told them all I know and I don't know anything else and I want to fucking well go the fuck home!

And they tell me that I have no home to go to and they're doubting I'm even Canadian and that I have a very strange accent and way of talking and so I say again that I'm not Canadian! And didn't they hear that the first fucking time and I've asked them how the hell in hades fuck I ended up in Canada when I was in Maine or something last time I checked and they tell me I don't have an American accent either and I just sit there flummoxed because it doesn't matter what I say, they don't believe me.

Then there's the matter that Iolanda will be back.

And they want to know where he will be back from and I tell them that he resides in hell and he's flown back there on his Wings of Hades and will be back for me and next time I'll be dead. And I don't think they believe that either and I don't really blame them. It's true but sounds fucking ridiculous when you say it out loud. I make demands and they ignore me. They tell me that they still think I hold the key to the murder of the Greens and they just will _not_ let it go! Does it fucking matter who killed them. They're dead and knowing the truth wont bring them back… but apparently that was the wrong thing to say. They tell me that they need to find who did it so that they can stop him from doing it again and so I've asked them how he can kill the Greens again and I thought one of them was going to hit me for saying that.

I have to look a blobs on a bit of paper and the man with the wire rimmed glasses watches me carefully and all of the pictures look like dicks and arses and cunny and some looked like the insides of someone after they've been ripped open, but I know I can't say that so I lie about what I think I can see and say _butterfly_ and _flower_ and other shit but it makes me all sweaty and it makes the places I stabbed myself… shit… no… it makes the places I was stabbed (yes I know… but I can't slip up and say the wrong thing. I have to remember that I didn't do this) hurt and they call in a doctor to look at me and they decide that I need to go back to the hospital and I don't know why.

'Infection.' They've told me, but I don't feel ill and I complain like a bitch about having to go back there. Again I seem to have a big nasty case of agoraphobia and I don't want to go outside. I'm like a cat who you're trying to put in a small box… all arms and legs grabbing doorframes and spitting and gobbing up stuff and trying to kick people and they tell me to calm down and I'm like…

'Fuck you!' And they take no notice of me. They think I'm crazy! Me crazy? I'm not the fuck who flew off the balcony! They just don't pissing well understand!

I'm put on antibiotics and they say I've got a temperature and I tell them that I'm always _hot_ but they don't laugh and maybe I don't look so hot in my beige with my hair chopped off and so I've asked them if the loss of my hair would give me a temperature as my head feels mighty cold, don't you know, and they look slightly amused by that. God! This is such a fucking mess! They clean the wounds on my body and they clean up my arms again and they make _tutting_ sounds at the state of my arms and I tell them that they'd shoot up too if they'd had the fucking life I've had. I cry and weep like a girl and alarm everyone with the deep sorrow I seem to have fallen in to. I don't want to talk to anyone and I don't let anyone touch me. I tried to bite a nurse and was told to pack my game in, but it didn't feel like a game, you know? It felt like I was being bullied and pushed around and accused of shit I'd not done and then accused of stuff I had done (like the drugs and stuff) and I keep telling them that _I want to go home!_ And they tell me that I'm a problem… What sort of a problem? Well they don't quite know what to do with me. They've no record of a Sam Trent-Saviour in their system and that's because I'm not a fucking Canadian! And they look at me _again_ like it's the first time I've said that. They're bloody bonkers I tell you! Fucking tosswads.

So I'm cleaned up and given meds which a social worker has taken charge of (because apparently that fucking whore Sally reported that I took a load of painkillers and so now they think I'm suicidal.) And they stand around wondering what the fuck to do with me. They can't just pat me on the head and let me go because of the Greens and they can't lock me up cos they've no proof I've done anything really wrong. And Child Services don't really want to offer me a place anywhere in their places, but finally they say that I'm bonkers enough to be put in one of they psyc hospitals for a few days _Observation_… Great! Fucking brilliant! And they drag me out into the car park place and again I'm screaming that Iolanda could be out there and that sort of confirms to them that I need help. Fucking losers. Why don't they look for that wank stain and stop picking on me?

It's not like I've done anything wrong is it?

I'm given a room.

This is like a posh rehab centre. There's lots of kids my sort of age here and they all look bloated and puffy and red around the eyes and they all look like they are wearing adult incontinence pants or something. Fucking hell! What _is_ this nutty place? There's girls and boys and I've already eyed up a girl with long curly red hair… I want to slide my fingers over that fire crotch. I want a taste of that bit of cunny… But I don't tell anyone that. I'll figure out a way to get some of her later.

I have to remember that I look like a complete dork.

I'm not the simply beautiful creature I used to be.

I'm just another messed up ho. They're not very responsive to me.

I rubbed against one of the orderlies and he ignored me! What the fuck! Ignored me! I'm telling you, I'm never going to live this shit down. We are not locked in our rooms but we're equally not allowed out of them at night and we are never permitted in another person's room. There are common areas where we can mix and there's an outside place which looks like any damned dragon from the sky can come down and pluck you from the ground with no problem. I've told them that. I've told them that I'm not going out there. I've told them that I don't want to sit near a door or a window and I've told them that there is a monster in hell who is after me and that he can slide under doors and THAT'S why I have rolled up paper stuffed up against my door and why I've chewed up toilet paper and blocked the key hole. Yes there are keyholes… so I expect at some point people _are_ locked in their rooms.

Fucking fuckers.

I'm refusing to eat with my hands.

I will eat like a dog on the floor and that's all. Fuck them! Fuck them all!

They drugged me last night because I was fighting them. They tried to get me to sit at the table and I wouldn't do it. Why the fuck should I do what they tell me!

'You're not my dad!' I howled at them. 'You can't tell me what to do!'

And that might be partly right… but yeah, only partly. Seems they _can_ tell me what to do…

And haven't we been here before? I've asked them why people keep locking me up and drugging me and telling me that I have problems and they tell me that maybe because that's true.

Bastards.

o-o-o

Spencer

Curves in the tunnel are beginning to concern me. Oh that's not all that's concerning me! I do wonder though if this is a giant circle I'm walking in. I've kept to the same tunnel and taken the right fork where there has been one, but my attention hasn't always been on where I'm going. I've tried… but it's not the easiest of things to do when you're bent over, burning up with a temperature and having to suffer the constant sound of your teeth chattering with such fury that I wonder if they'll shatter.

Truth be told; I just looked behind me. I was thinking as I turned slowly, water smacking into my thighs (the water is getting deeper), that I didn't _need_ to see where that bloated dead things was going as it floated on by me, but I did anyway and my attention was only partly taken up by the way it seemed to be floating and going around and around and around like some freakish synchronised swimmer; what I saw I think horrified me even more than that… the tunnel behind me also divided into two and I'd not noticed that and I had _no_ idea which of those two I walked out of.

How many others have I missed?

You see I've been thinking that if I walk until I can walk no further and I've found no exit, then I will rest somehow and then make my way back, but now? Now I can't do that. I don't _know _ my way back. I stand there for a while and watched the dead thing hit the wall in the middle of that Y and then bounce back and swirl with the grace that only a dead animal can have and it slipped away down the right hand tunnel and into darkness.

I've come to the conclusion that I should have never come down here. Yes the room, the lack of food, the dirty water, the fever I have… all of that would have killed me eventually, but at least I could have wrapped blankets around myself and slept until death came for me. Now I can't even do that. I will become a floating bloated dead thing forever swirling and bouncing off the walls and the rats will cover me and eat my face away and I'm a grown man and not a child. I know what my chances are of surviving this if I don't find somewhere to at least sit down soon. I can feel how hot my skin is. I can feel the crust of pus around my nose and the way my eyes will hardly open. I can feel how my fingers wont bend properly (I think that's the cold doing that to me) I would love to say that I have a terrible back ache from walking like this for what seems like hours, but it doesn't ache any more. It stopped a while back. Now there is just a numbness and it's going down my back and down my thighs and travelling eventually to my toes… and in the other direction there is a spike of something which might be pain going up to the base of my skull where it is sitting and waiting for my head to open up like some corny TV monster and expose my brain which feels as though it is turning to mush around the edges and turning to a molten mess in the middle.

So I turn back to go the way I had been going. There's no alternative. I do wonder though where all the damned exits are! I had thought I would have passed more than one in the time I'd been walking here, but no… just the one which wouldn't open… so now seeing a dark shadow to my right I take no great joy in seeing it. How many side tunnels had I moved past in this labyrinth of stink? I've lost count. Or maybe I don't want to admit that I might have missed some of them

I stop and just look at that shadow for a while and actually wish (though maybe I'm being unfair) that Sam was here! Sam would have been able to figure out which way we were going and yes I could wish that Floyd was here too, but that actually isn't on the top of my list.

So I stand and look at that shadow and it _is_ an alcove and not a tunnel. Of that I'm sure. But I am also sure that I can't trust my eyes or my senses any more. If some stranger had come across me and asked what I was doing here I might have laughed and told them that they were not real… or I might have screamed crazy words and told him that I didn't know how I got here! Because I'm damned sure that I didn't come down here alone or voluntarily. I must have been thrown down here by some wandering UnSub, or by Floyd! I let out a small laugh and it comes out as a creepy sounding croak and brings on a spate of coughing, but look! I am so close now. I let the flashlight (flicker, flicker, flicker) hang from my wrist and place my hands on my wet thighs and…

I am drowning.

I can see up through the water… it's flowing past my eyes and I'm held down on the bottom of this underground river by something which wont let me go. I open my mouth to scream but I can't. I try to get up and my arms and legs flail in the water which is stinging my skin. I lose a sneaker. I pull back a fingernail on the ragged brickwork and suddenly I am out of the water and sitting there looking down the tunnel. The flashlight is on my wrist and…

I can't breathe.

I try. I open my mouth and try to pull in long lovely air, but my throat is so tight that nothing can get through. My nose is swollen and clogged. I'm suffocating in my own snot. I'm drowning in mucus. On my knees and with the water up to my chest I finally manage to drag in a small gasp of air. It's not enough. One small tease is never enough. I try again and a slightly bigger lungful, though again not enough. My head is spinning. The tunnel is wavering in and out of focus and I'm going to pass out again and die… I really am.

I am dying.

That's all I can think of. I crawl forwards on my knees and the sock on the foot which lost the sneaker is trying to work its way off and I don't bother stopping it. Dead people don't need socks… matching or otherwise. What I have on my feet is the last of my concerns. I _have_ to get to that alcove. I _have_ to be able to get out of the water. I don't want to die in this wet. Just let me get to the alcove. Let me curl up in the relative dry… let me have at least that choice.

I am there. I've reached it! I was right… I can climb up and it's a gap of about three foot deep and five foot long… there is a height of about three foot too. It's like a small brick made coffin and it will do me fine, thank you. Maybe another half an hour of struggling gets me into my new home. I curl up around myself and hug my flashlight which has stopped flickering but is maybe not glowing as brightly as it had been.

It's OK. I don't need it any more.

There is something dripping from my ears. God only knows what it is, but I think I have an ear infection on top of everything else. I don't know if the flashlight is out. I think so. I can't open my eyes. I can hear my wheezing bubbling breaths and I can feel the air tearing through my throat. My tongue is swollen again. My gums are bleeding. My hands are curled up into fists and I can't uncurl them. There's a sudden warmth over my middle as my bladder lets go, and I didn't even feel it until it happened. I can't close my mouth. It's as though my jaw has been wrenched open by something and wont let it shut.

I have never felt such peace as I do right now.

Floyd

Well waste of time on top of a waste of money and effort.

It was a trick to keep me there. I could smell the panic on the bastard's fat face, but that might have been partly the way I was undressing him with my eyes. (and quickly dressing him again).

To be absolutely honest with you…

No wait… I'm not quite _that_ sick, but to be vaguely honest with you, I feel like shit warmed up. I've a stinking headache, my back is killing me, chest pains, cough, sneezing and now my ears are popping like I've been on a long haul flight (in a crate in baggage) and my neck is hurting.

I've booked a motel, but I've not used Spencer's name. I know if I use my own or Sam's that the fucking Feds will pick up on it. Possibly what the guy was stalling me for.

So I'm on the bed. Green swirling patterns looked horribly like putrid vomit so I've removed them… down to the mattress protector (white) and I'm sprawled on my front for ease of breathing, because this shit sort of hurts and if Sam is feeling this and if he's making me feel like this shit then I'm going to have to break all contact with the bastard. I'm not going to haul around his diseases with me. I'll have nothing more to do with him.

'You can have him, Iolanda.'

I roll onto my back and think maybe I shouldn't have said that. 'Actually you can't.' I now add, but too late? Shit. You have to be so fucking careful when saying stuff like that, but again I'm blaming it on the damned temperature I seem to have. A fever? Who the fuck would have known? I can fight stuff like this, but this isn't my illness. Does that make sense? If tested I'd come back as fine and dandy because this isn't mine. I'm just feeling Sam. Oh Sam oh Sam oh Sammy Sam Sam… my love my love… my darling boy! Where are you? There is no point in letting me know you're ill if you don't let me know where you are!

It's always the damned same.

Motel rooms… Let me tell you… I hate them. I could never be a travelling salesman. It would do my fucking head in having to call these places home. They are full of little tiny remains of the last occupant. A single strand of hair. A drop of something… an empty candy wrapper… a finger print… pubes in the shower drain… tooth paste on the basin… shit marks in the john… Oh not all in the same room, but over the course of months… you see it all. Even the specks of blood on the wall. Yeah – I've seen blood on the walls which I've not put there.

I had this cute lad back once. I'll tell you about him. He was sitting on a bench outside – waiting for a bus. He was smoking and so I sat down next to him and asked for a light and we chatted as two new found friends would chat. I heard his stomach rumble and he placed his hand over his skinny stomach and looked so embarrassed. He had dark hair with a bit of purple dyed into the front… a bit of guyliner around his eyes… And the bus came and went and he didn't get on it, but carried on talking and his stomach carried on rumbling. 'Hey…' I say… 'I've a room just over there – I'll make you a coffee and order in some food.'

And he tells me that he really shouldn't, but by now I could smell it on him. The want, greed, need… I could even smell that he couldn't believe his luck. So I tell him that I'll order food and we can eat it out here in the cold…

Well he decided to come back to the room, but I had to use a lot of wafting my scent up his little turned up nose to get him to do it and at first I did what I said I'd do.

I made him coffee.

His name was Danny.

He was lying.

I raped him.

OK… I didn't kill him. He wasn't a virgin either, but there was blood up the wall. I did have to hit him quite a few times. I told him that he was a sweet fuck and he just lay there all bloodied and scared and I just knew that he'd not report me. I knew it. I could have killed him.

'I could kill you.' I cracked my knuckles and his eye liner was smudged and running across his face in black tears. 'I could kill you and eat parts of you.' And he carried on just laying there. 'But I wont. At least not today. You consented to sex. You told me you were eighteen. You're a stinking ho liar.' I told him this and he just nodded. There was no way in hell he was as old as eighteen, but as I said, nor was that slut a virgin. I told him that I'd come back for him another time. I told him that the purple hair was stupid. I told dear Danny that he would be looking over his shoulder forever because I was going to come after him again one day. And I let him go.

I let him go for a whole day before I reached out and grabbed him again.

It was too much of a temptation. I had to feed. I had to gorge. You know that though. I had to fill all of those empty places. I fucked him again and I dragged him to an old farm house where I proceeded to dismember him… he screamed a bit when I started to saw off his arms – but was dead, I think, by the time I took out his intestines. I slow cooked the torso over fire. I spit roasted him… other bits I dried and ate over the course of a few months. Danny… sweet Danny… and I watched news reports of missing people and Danny was never mentioned. Is he missing yet? I don't know. I really don't… I lost interest in trying to find out if he was ever missed.

So anyway… what was I saying before I lost track and got talking about that?

Oh yes, blood up the walls. This is why I have a general dislike for these places. They tell so many stories. This actual one I'm in now… this bed I'm laying on, well this is the exact same one I had Danny on, which is likely why I thought to talk about him. It's made me feel hot between the legs. It's made me want something… and yet I feel Sam's sickness.

Closed my eyes and fell asleep?

Unheard of. I must be really ill. I pay for another week in this shit hole and make my way to the hospital. Trouble is that I don't have hospital insurance, It's not an easy thing to get hold of when you should be dead and I can't use Spencer's. It would ring a thousand alarm bells, but I've got cash and they say they'll see me. Good of them huh? 'Sorry can't help you live unless you are rich.' What's the fucking world coming to when that is the attitude of the people.

It's fucking obvious that there's something wrong with me. I am virtually blind by now and can't talk properly. I feel like my brain has been set afire and my chest… well…

They think I have an infection but can't find what it is. They lay me down, they strip me off (I hear gasps of wonder) and they try to cool down my over heated body. They're sticking something into the back of my hand… 'Fluids.' I'm told I am dehydrated and that's ridiculous but I don't bother trying to tell them their job. Then they want to take blood and maybe I threaten them because the room empties and the cops arrive and I'm told to leave. I get meds to lower my temperature and I think I've just save myself a few hundred dollars. Someone follows me down to the elevators and she coughs slightly to get my attention. She tells me that I have a serious chest infection. 'I understand that you don't want to be here. It's not uncommon to be afraid of hospitals.'

'I'm not afraid.' I snap at her. 'And I can't have a chest infection. I don't _get_ chest infections.'

'Well…' She continues. '… you're showing signs that you live rough and though I can see that you're well dressed and maybe you're not living rough now…'

'Fuck you missy.' And I step towards the elevator again wondering if I should take the stairs.

'I just wanted advise you to wrap up warm even if you're feeling hot.'

'Fuck you missy.' I repeat and now the elevator door is opening and I step in dragging her squeaking behind me and the doors close and I have her there standing in front of me. 'What you're failing to understand is that I am immune to disease and I'm just shadowing an illness someone close to me has. Your potions and medications are not going to work. What I need is to get to the person who _is_ ill and fuck them better.'

Her face goes very red and she assures me that she's not feeling ill… and this is her floor, but before she goes I tell her that no fucking hospital is going to drain me of my blood, not all the time another fucking place still has hold of my internals. I'm not completely sure she listened to me. She seemed to be in a rush to get away. What the hell did she think I was going to do to her?

Back to the sodding motel and day three and something sort of dawns on me through my fog…

'What the fuck?'

Well it was a bigger dawning than that actually because there is something wrong here and my mind is a big fuzzy mess, but didn't I leave Spencer somewhere? Did I? Is he at home or did I take him someplace? I have a feeling I did, but my brain wont let me THINK and my nose is running worse than Sam's ever did and my pus… dripping from my ears… well it doesn't taste of Sam, not that it should, but it tastes of Spencer.

I sit up too quickly and fall back down in a pathetic pile of snot. I am feeling mighty sorry for myself because that fucking wanker who I think is in Canada, but my reasons for thinking that are fading… is sick… but maybe it's not him and maybe it is him… and gods alive I'm going to puke and my…

GAH… green puke… nice. I've redecorated the bed in a mess that looks like I've not taken the cover off but Canada is so fucking far away… this is closer and stinking and making me rot from the insides and I wish to fuck I could remember where Spencer is…

A phone by the bed and I wonder if I could call him and ask if he's OK…

A phone by the bed and I wonder if it's time to call Rossi. He will know I'm around by now… but fucking hate phones I do! Fucking hate them. Maybe I need to go educate the fucker and let him know that I'm not where he'd like me to be… and maybe I'll not. Perhaps I'll just stay here and see this – whatever this is – off…

Now I have been thinking whilst laying in my own puke and other bodily fluids that I took Spencer somewhere. I did. I'm half sure of it. But where did I take him? Fucking brain fog is closing in so fast and I've tried closing my eyes and concentrating on Spence and all I get is this stink… foul stench of decay… like a grave… like a charnel house… like so much more than that… and I'll tell you too that I'd not leave my precious Spencer somewhere like that… But then again maybe I did… but…

… you see how I am seeing things is that… I'm going to pass away into death whilst laying here and never fully get my thoughts in order again. I'm not sure… I don't know, but maybe I _am_ sick. Maybe I should have stayed in the hospital, but I'm also very sure that if that hammering on my door stopped that I'd be able to sleep…

A crashing sound… And I'm trying to open my eyes and see what the fuck is going on, but it feels like I'm laid in concrete and even the pulling and tugging on my arms isn't letting me move…

Is this what it feels like to really die? Is this how it is in the end? Do you not actually feel the pain anymore? Do you lose the ability to move and think about anything but that swaying, swaying… swaying… I'm in a ship… I can smell the water and feel the movement. Maybe I'm being shipped back home again. I can hear rats scuttling around and I would like to reach out and grab one and eat, eat, eat, eat… but that swaying of the ship… and the stink that dreadful stink! How can anyone live like this! It's impossible…

'Hey!' A muffled voice.

'The captain requests my company at dinner?' I mutter and that's all I hear… a loud wailing whine and a flash of blue… 'Stop the damned waves! There's another storm and I can't take this shit any more! It's going to fucking kill me!'

And I'm sucked under the waves that drag me off the side of the ship as the water covers me like a mountain and down I go…


	14. Chapter 14

14

'Sir?'

The voice was a long way down a small tunnel. Floyd could just about see a blurry pink face looking at him. Huge eyes! Bulging huge blue eyes peering down. This was no time to play games. This was time to ask people to leave him alone. The drowning and swaying sensation had left. A rescue? Ah… sweet bliss. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to slip into a sleep. What he was really after was a healing hibernation but that didn't seem available. Floyd swallowed back the taste of filth and shit which was filling his mouth and damn did that hurt! He was sure that couldn't have been him who made that small pathetic sound.

He wanted to curl up and suffer this alone, but they weren't going to let him do that. They pricked him with needles and stroked back his sweaty hair and they talked amongst themselves wondering what the hell was going on with this man. Was he infectious? Could they catch this from him? And Floyd lay with his eyes closed and flashing images shot across his mind. A small dark room. A large metal door. Ripped up bodies being shoved down a drain. Spencer… Spencer curled up under some blankets, sleeping and dying and crying and needing…

Floyd opened one eye and made it focus properly on that odd looking pale woman at his side.

'Are you awake?'

He didn't answer her with words because he didn't think that he was able to do that.

'Can you remember what you took?'

They thought it was drugs related. Why do people assume that? Why can't someone just feel like shit for no reason? Except there was a reason and Floyd's muddled mind had assumed that the reason had been Sam.

'What happened?' He finally whispered out, but talking brought on a feeling that someone had ripped out his lungs.

'You were found in your motel room raving and screaming. The owner called for the police and you were brought here. Can you remember what you took?'

More coughing. A dreadful and deadly sound it was too. Not like those mornings when you wake up thinking _I'll never smoke again_, just before you light up, but a deep tearing cough which surely must be doing damage. He didn't answer her question with words, but hadn't they suggested that he might be contagious? Well if they think that, then he might as well be. Floyd closed his eyes in preparation. This wasn't going to be a pain free experience for either of them, but he had to get his head clear and right now it felt as though his brains were leaking out of his ears. He moved his hand towards where the voice had come from. A weak and pathetic gesture. 'Please.' He again whispered… maybe he didn't actually say it, but the nurse felt his pleas. He needed a hand to hold.

Bless him.

He thought he was dying and needed human contact in his last minutes.

How sweet.

How bloody sad.

He felt her warm skin against his and he wrapped his fingers tightly around hers. 'Sorry.' He muttered, but he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Not sorry for what he was doing at least. Maybe sorry for forgetting where he'd left Spencer? Maybe… probably that word _sorry_ had just been an outright lie. And maybe he was saying sorry to himself because this _was_ going to hurt.

Of course it hurt the nurse more than it hurt him. He heard her make a small noise and he felt her trying to get her hand out of his, but she slipped and fell to the floor with that one hand still grasped in Floyd's as he passed all his pain and disease over to the woman with the _very_ bulging eyes and a white sweaty dying face. Floyd arched his back, spat blood, puked a bit, pissed himself (again) and as his brain finally began to cool down the pair of them had an almost orgasmic experience as they both went into seizure at the same time.

Floyd let go as his muscles began to spasm. He tipped his head back and let out a howl and maybe something dark and wispy escaped from him… through his pores and out of his nose and across his lips. Maybe his arse even smoked for a bit there, but there was an alarm blaring and the sound of running feet and Floyd cracked open his eyes slightly and rolled onto his side and spewed out things which should never have been inside of him in the first place.

'What the hell happened?'

Floyd heard someone talking from behind him as he tried to get off the bed, pulling wires off his chest and things out of the back of his hand.

'Hey, you can't leave! What happened here?'

He had his feet on the hospital floor and was pressing his hands down either side of him, ready to get up and get his clothes on. 'What?' He muttered. They couldn't blame him for this. They just couldn't. They might want to quarantine him, but they'd be hard pressed to prove that he had anything wrong with him beyond a very bad hang over.

As far as the doctors and staff were concerned though, Floyd had been dying. They couldn't see that now he could get up, get dressed and walk away… but that was exactly what it looked like he was going to do. 'I feel better.' He muttered as he wobbled his way towards the place they'd stored his clothing. 'I have to go.'

But now they wanted to do more tests to find out what he _didn't_ have wrong with him as they carried the limp sweaty nurse away.

'We are just concerned that you are contagious.' The doctor with the mask over his face and gloves on said to Floyd.

'I'm not. I drank too much and had a bad dream. I thought I was drowning but it seems I was just pissing myself. It's not uncommon to dream such dreams when you urinate in your sleep. Happens to me all the time.' There was a weird silence in the room. 'Not that I regularly piss myself in my sleep. It sort of sounds that way, but no. It's rare. Not as all the time as I made it out to bed, but yes, I drank too much. I can't help you with what happened to that woman. One minute she was standing there and the next she was gone and my headache was gone with it. I didn't even know she was down there.' He held out his boots. 'Can you hold these for me? I'm having a bit of trouble with numb fingers. Another alcohol related mess. I'm a mess, I realise that, but it's not something you need to concern yourself with… Move out of the way of the chair… Thanks… I need to sit down. Don't fucking look at me like that! A man is allowed a drink.'

'There was no alcohol in your system.' A doctor pointed out. 'We don't think this was alcohol related at all.' He dropped Floyd's boots on the floor. 'And we need to know why you are suddenly better and the nurse seems to have the same symptoms you had about five minutes ago.'

Floyd frowned at his boots. Honestly his head still hurt and his fingers were being slow to react and do as they were told. Normally Floyd could button up and be dressed in seconds with one hand… today his fingers were just not behaving as they should. 'He let out a long sign and leaned back on the chair and told a half lie and a bit of truth. 'I smoke this herb. Nothing illegal. I collect stuff from the woods. It's free to gather and free to dry out and not illegal to smoke. Sometimes the mix goes awry and I have a bad hit. That's all it was. You'll not find anything in my system that shouldn't be there and certainly nothing illegal. I'm sure you did a drugs test.' He looked at nodding heads. Floyd reached into a pocket and pulled out a smoke and handed it to the doctor. 'Get it checked out. For real… smoke it… I don't care, but I think it's a bad run I have there and I'll not be smoking it myself. That's what it was and I'd rather say it was alcohol as drink is a more acceptable reason to be acting like a fucking moron.' He pulled on his boots. 'I'm leaving. Thank you for caring and I hope missy gets well soon. I'm sure she was just over come with emotion thinking something as beautiful as me was going to die… pop my clogs as it were. Now… I have places to go and people to see. Thank you for everything, you've been a real brick…' He walked from the room leaving open mouthed people standing there in the room. He walked swiftly to the elevator, knocking into a well fed looking, middle ages, well dressed, gold watch wearing man on he way. 'Sorry.' Floyd muttered as he knocked into him and swiped his wallet. He _needed_ it and you'll see why… so don't get all up on him about one small theft. If Floyd was going to get back to Spencer then he had to do it fast and a cab seemed to be the best way to achieve that and having no funds of his own on him, theft seemed to be the best option. It's not like the guy needed that much money! And what kind of a fool would carry that much cash on them anyway…

Nice watch too. Floyd wasn't much of a watch wearer, but Spencer was. He'd give the watch to Spencer as recompense for completely forgetting where the fuck he'd put him.

'It's like you have something which is such a treasure that you can't dare let someone else see it in case they try to take it from you.' He explained to the cabby. 'You have to lock it away and keep it safe… I know this woman who told me once that over in England just after or during the war… during it probably… there were no bananas to be had at all… and her dad who was Londoner got a banana from a friend of a friend and he gave it to his daughter, who took it to school to show everyone and then slept with it under her pillow. She kept it until it was brown and rotten and she had to throw it away… and this is a bit like that… you see?'

The cabby couldn't see and didn't know what the hell this idiot was talking to him about bananas for. 'This where you wanted to be?' The cabby asked as he pulled over at the gates of the warehouse complex. He put a hand out for his money and was tipped well. He drove off leaving Floyd standing in a light drizzle and with a runny nose.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Sam was standing which his back tight against a wall in the therapy room. There was a red chair he could sit in, but Sam claimed that red was usually a sign to stop or for danger and he wasn't going to sit in it. There was a couch covered in faux black leather and Sam refused to rest back on that either. He said it made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't want to relax. He certainly didn't want to lay back on the therapist's couch and talk over his problems. He told the therapist that as soon as he lets his guard down someone abuses him and he wasn't going to let that happen again. So in the end Sam stood against the wall. His butt pressed hard against it and his hands either side of him… palms pressed against the wall. His hair was covered with a black baseball cap he'd demanded. He said that hair was there to protect the brain and when you lose your hair your brain became vulnerable. He seemed very convinced of his theory, even though the staff had tried to tell him that he was wrong.

'What is your earliest childhood memory?'

How many times had Sam been asked that same question when locked away in places like this? Sam stood and took deep breaths and looked out of the window which was directly opposite him. He gave small shrug and pressed his hands harder against the wall.

'Do you _have_ any childhood memories?'

Now Sam nodded slowly. He could feel his breath coming in short and sharp little breaths and his nose was running and his chest hurt. He sniffed up what was trying to escape from his nose and licked at his top lip. 'Loads.' Sam muttered. 'But none of them are what I want to talk to you about.'

'Do they disturb you? Do they worry you?'

'Memories.' Sam moaned. 'You want to know what my childhood was like? There's no point in telling you because I've told people a million times what went on and no one ever believes me.'

The therapist stood and walked to the red chair. He turned it so that it was facing Sam and sat. 'Sometimes what we remember as a child is distorted. That's normal. Pain we suffer when we are small, compared with pain we suffer as an adult… it's not the same and nor are visual memories. I can give you an example from my own childhood. I was out in the snow. My father was a giant of a man and he was shovelling snow to the side of our back yard. It towered over me, but my father was a huge tall man and when I looked like I was scared he plucked me up off the ground and took me safely back in doors. Now I know that my father was only five foot five. Not a giant at all. And I know that the snow was only shovelled to the height of the window sill… so you see, my view of the world was…'

Sam pulled a sweaty hand away from the wall and waved at cutting gesture at the man. It was a gesture he'd seen Floyd use over and over and it sort of made him sad and cross at the same time that he'd picked this up from him. 'I don't fucking care if your dad shovelled snow or not and that hardly compares to what happened to me as a child. Does it matter what the perspective is? If it happened it happened. I know what happened and talking to you about it will achieve nothing beneficial to me. I don't want to have to go over this shit with every person I come across who says he's trying to help me, because it was horrific and it was terrifying and I don't want to have to mull over it for your satisfaction.'

The therapist watched Sam's hand smack hard against the wall again. Sam didn't have to tell him that something horrific and terrifying had happened. He could tell that by the way the lad talked and walked and stood. Everything about him was on the defensive. He was suffering from very bad PTSD and he wanted to help him. 'You must have happy memories though. Something good to think about?'

Sam raised an eyebrow. 'Something good.' He shook his head. 'Nothing I want to discuss with you. Nothing. You'd not understand. You'd think I was sick and perverted.'

'I would like you to share that good thing, or do you think by keeping it to yourself that it is less diluted?'

Sam tipped his head back and closed his eyes. 'Sure… Every time I tell someone it becomes soiled slightly. There's not much to cling on to now. I want to… I dunno… I remember it was snowing and it had been snowing hard for days and everyone was in side the vans. Even I was put inside for now because it was so damned cold and they didn't light the big outside fires but stayed in the vans and used body warmth and I was put in with the dogs. One had just had puppies. She smelt so wonderful. She smelt of milk and that soft smell of the new born… and she let me curl up with her and she mothered me and washed me and she kept me warm and I suckled from her. I think that was the first time in my life that I was happy.'

There was silence. The therapist sat staring at Sam and a digital clock on the wall silently flashed over one second to the next and then the next…

'You suckled a dog? How old were you?'

Sam sighed and opened his eyes and looked at the therapist. 'You sound disgusted. You see? That's my happiest memory and it disgusts you. How the hell can I explain that being raped became something of a comfort? You'd never understand that! You'd never understand how lonely it is when no one even uses a name for you but just calls you a dog. You've no concept of that feeling that there is nothing but one person who can save you and he's off fucking his boyfriend and doesn't give me a thought from one month to the next. So many fingers… so many tongues… where do I start? My earliest memory? You still really want to know?'

The therapist sat twisting his fingers looking at the lad, but he gave him a small incline of the head. 'I would like to know. It's important. Sometimes those early memories are what makes us do what we do… how we react to things… how we cope.'

'I can see the stars. My hands are tied up above my head, but I'm laying down and my feet are secured in something, but I can't really remember exactly what it is and my back hurts and my hips hurt… and… and… I don't know how old I am, but this scenario is a common one so it's really hard to know.'

'Did anyone touch you?' The therapist who had heard everything was hearing new things today.

'Fingers. Only with hands and mouths and fingers. They raped me with their fingers. I could hear voices but I don't know what was being said. That part of the memory has gone now. I was a kid. A little kid… and Iolanda did it. It was him.'

It was the end of the session. The therapist needed to think about what Sam had said and trying to wrangle too much out in one session was not wise anyway. He told Sam that it was snack time and he could go, but he could see now that Sam was crying. He got up from the chair, grabbed a tissue and passed it to Sam. 'It's OK to cry.' He told him. 'It's good to cry. There's no shame in it.'

Sam shrugged but took the tissue and wiped at his eyes. 'I had surgery once. Someone took me and stuffed something inside of me and they couldn't get it out and one of the women took me to a hospital and they had to stuff this thing up my arse and pull me wide open and try to get it. But you're right. There's no shame in it.' Sam pulled away from the wall. 'I want to go home. I want to go back to people who understand and believe me. I don't want this shit and I don't want to talk to you about it because all I am is a curiosity to you.' And he was gone in a flurry of white jeans and black shirt out of the room leaving the therapist to wonder how the hell you can glue something back together who was so badly damaged.

Sam ate a cookie and picked up a cup of warm milk. He avoided looking people in the eyes, knowing that they could see right through his veneer of trying to be normal and right into the chaos going on under the surface. He wanted to keep himself together and be normal and do what they wanted, but some things were just impossible to do. They asked too much and they demanded too much. The rules were also very strict and he wanted and needed to rebel against them and let them know that he'd not be manipulated and ordered around and that was why that afternoon he cornered Abby Stringer in the corner of the girls restrooms and put his hand up her yellow skirt and then down her cotton panties. It wasn't that he desperately needed to touch her. He'd followed her mostly on a whim when he saw her walking into the girls room and it was internal demands more than anything which got his fingers where they wanted to be… that and the memory of being touched like that himself.

'You wall over to me…' Sam hissed in Abby's ear, '… and you put your hands down my pants – but I never asked for that…' He ran his fingers over that soft area between her legs. 'I never wanted that.' He told her. 'Uninvited, harsh, nothing soft and nothing loving. I could love you Abby.'

She spat in his face and clawed at his neck and finally got away from him and left him huddled down by the basins and went to get someone. She spoke in a high pitched panic and squealed out words which made no sense and ran to her room. They found Sam and pulled him out of the restroom and down to his own small but comfortable room and they talked gently to him about keeping his hands to himself. That it was a violation to touch someone with out there permission. They told him that Abby would be entitled to complain about sexual assault. And Sam listened and nodded and when they'd left he curled up under his bed covers and went to sleep.

He had a dream about rats. Millions of rats covering him and nibbling at him and biting at his face and clawing at his genitals. He woke up screaming and trying to dig a hole in the floor in the corner of his room. He went back to sleep again feeling that familiar prick in his thigh which let him sleep dreamlessly for a long time, but made him wake up feeling like he was hung over.

It was decided that Sam had reacted badly to the therapy session. They were put on hold for now whilst they figured out if his boy was capable of killing the Greens. The therapist thought not. He thought that Sam would have loved the comfort given by them. The security. This acting out he was going through was obviously just shock. No… the therapist thought it a ridiculous idea that someone who craved love and kindness would kill that very thing offering it.

He was a crap therapist.

o-o-o

Floyd stood in the wet with a bag under his arm. He'd persuaded the cabby to stop off at a camping store for him. He'd picked up a few bits he had a feeling he might be needing. Though he'd offloaded his pain to the nurse (who died the following afternoon) he was beginning again to feel not quite right, which could only mean that it was a proximity thing now. He could sense pain and despair… though why someone would despair when they had him to love, Floyd didn't really know. He slid through the gap in the gate where the chain rattled and then scrunched over to where he'd left the love of his life (if you were to believe the rumours…) or at least to where he'd put Spencer in storage a few days ago and considering he'd told Spencer he was going to be gone a few weeks the kid was going to be surprised and overjoyed to see him! Floyd knew that… at least for now he knew that. The feeling that Spencer was sitting looking beautiful was now dulling and as creeping pain began to slide into Floyd again he actually wondered if Spencer was dying. Though that was insanity. He'd been fine a few days ago… No one but a complete wuss would get ill that quickly.

He stood with his hand on the wooden door at the top of the stairs and cocked his head to the side as though listening. There was nothing but the increasing rain to be heard though.

'Only a complete wuss.' Floyd said aloud and opened the door, peering down into the darkness. 'A complete wuss like Spencer?' Floyd questioned himself as his boots clipped and clopped down the concrete stairs to the bottom where the door stood with the chain securing it shut. He didn't open it right away. He stood and placed an ear against the door. He listened for anything, but all there seemed to be was a dripping sound which might have been coming from himself as again his nose had started to run.

Floyd wiped the back of his hand over his nose and licked at his top lip and realised that he had picked this gesture off Sam. It made him miss Sam a tiny bit… but annoyed him at the same time. The day Floyd got used to snot was the day the world ended and it annoyed him that there was a sweetly sour taste of snot on his tongue now. He ran his fingers which were as cold as ice over the lock and after he heard it click open he dragged the chain out of the loops and pushed the door open to reveal a vibrant and happy Spencer sitting there knitting or something… but no, no Spencer… but a stinking empty room.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the drain grill laying on the floor and he looked at the mushed up cardboard pushed to the side and he swore. 'You stupid fucking son of a bitch cunting idiot!' He dropped what he had in his hands and peered down the drain. 'Oh for the love of all and everything I can FUCK! Why? Why! You knew I'd come back for you! You knew I'd not leave you here! You stupid tosser! You arsehole! Damn you! I should leave you the fuck down there! Good god… Fucking hell you… you MORON!' And he shouted that last word down into the darkness and oddly it echoed back at him and jabbed in his ears as though it was _him_ who was the moron and not that mother fucker Spencer. 'Damn you!' Floyd sat down in the damp and pulled his boots off, threw them to the side with the blankets, tossed his goody bag over with them and lastly his coat was lobbed over to join them. 'Damn you Spencer! You're going to owe me one after this fuck up. Why can't you do as you're bloody well told! Why?' He wanted to hurl things around and he wanted to see something bleed. He needed to hear screams and feel flesh sliding beneath his fists, but it was going to have to wait. He at least had to go recover Spencer from wherever the hell he'd gone.

Floyd slid down through the drain with an irritated sigh and a curse. He knew how wet it was down here. He'd spent time investigating the place and he knew that his boots would get ruined down here. He could feel it though as he stood there next to one of his previous guests rotting there in the water… he could feel Spencer's sickness. Floyd raised a weary eyebrow and rubbed at his temples. The place was in complete darkness but Floyd seemed to be able to see via a light which glowed from the back of his eyes. It was a handy trick when it worked. Today it was working just fine. Now all he had to do was to home in on Spencer and drag him back again. There _were_ other ways out of here, but mostly they'd been bricked up and/or blocked a long time ago. So unless Spencer had crawled through an impossibly small space or he'd crawled up through a toilet, Floyd was quite sure that Spencer hadn't gone all that far. He scrunched and waded over the bits of body and dead rats and the other many things which had naturally washed down here in the past… turds… may turds, but luckily most of them had turned to a mush which was now squeezing itself between Floyd's toes, but at least he wasn't being greeted by them as he walked along. The squishy feeling on his feet was a bit therapeutic…

Another body… a woman… a cat… a dog… a thing with looked like a mutant hamster but might have been a rabbit… some other stuff… junk, plastic bags… and after walking in the dark for about an hour with a head which was pounding harder and a heart which was skippity jumping around in his chest, Floyd found a sneaker. Spencer's sneaker and if there was any doubt about that, Spencer's name scribed inside it like some school kid would write his name in his shoes… there is was… He looked at it and sniffed at it and decided that it was never going to be recoverable. That sneaker was never going to go on Spencer's foot again. Floyd gave it a small tender kiss on the toe and dropped it back into the water which was rising now above his knees. He stood and listened to the rushing of the water in the distance. There was only light rain outside, but if it had been raining up in the hills then this here sewer might well get a good flushing for once. He wanted to find Spencer before that happened… 'Onwards for ever onwards… and for what? To find a cure for flu I think. I can't think of another reason I'm on this fucking rescue mission.'

He passed the passages off to the side and he reached the Y shaped passages and when he reached them he stood staring in the darkness with his hands on the ceiling and his brain trying to pick up where Spencer had gone. It was not easy, but his head certainly throbbed more looking down the right hand side so that's the way he went… onwards… and finally as Floyd thought maybe he'd been wrong and gone the wrong way the stabbing agony started in his neck and down across his shoulders and then up into his head and eyes. Floyd lurched forwards now with his hands holding onto the side of this head, thinking that somehow it would stop his brain from exploding… and there in the shadows… finally! Spencer.

Floyd crouched down in the stink and gently touched Spencer's arm. He was alive… he could at least hear that much from the terrible sounds Spencer was making as he breathed laboriously in and then out again, slowly.

'Hey Babes. What the fuck are you doing down here?'

Floyd would have liked arms to have been wrapped around him… gratitude… kisses and a grope, but all he got was a hand slapping uselessly at the one Floyd had placed on his arm.

'It's only me. It's just me. Come on. I'll get you out of here. Stop slapping me Spencer. I'm here and I'm not too fucking pleased that you've walked all this damned way, but I'm here now. Stop slapping me! Stop that! What the fuck's wrong with you? I'm here… it's just me.'

A growl of a voice answered him. A voice that didn't sound much like Spencer's at all. 'I know it's you.'

Floyd moved slightly back and shuddered a little. The cold down here was beginning to get to him now. 'If you know it's me why are you trying to offend me by fighting back?'

Again that horrible painful sounding voice. 'Don't touch me.'

'I know it hurts, Babes, but I'll carry you back and I've…'

'Don't touch me!' This time there seemed to be a bit more life in his voice. 'You left me to die. Now go away and allow me the peace to do what you want me to do.'

Floyd stood up, smacked his head on the low ceiling and crouched down again. 'I didn't leave you to die!'

'Oh… Floyd. Go away. You went to get Sam. You said you'd be three weeks. You left me to die.'

'Sam? This is a sulk over Sam? Well I might just leave you here then. Fucking moaning bastard! What's wrong with everyone? I got you something nice.'

'A body bag?' Spencer hissed back.

'What? No! Look Spencer, I've been a bit ill and down here is bringing on this odd sickness again. We need to get out of here. I'll help you, or you can just follow me.'

There was a resigned sigh from Spencer. 'Did you find Sam?'

Floyd shook his head and reached out again for Spencer. 'I've not looked. I was trying to get my shit back and failed. Come on! Let me help you, you useless bit of trash.'

So with a bit of kicking and a fair bit of scratching and moaning, Spencer was dragged out of hiding and thrown over Floyd's back. It wasn't going to be an easy trip back. Floyd's back was already aching from being bent over for so long. The water level had risen a bit and both of them were now getting very wet. Spencer's cries of… 'Put me down! I don't want to be rescued.' Were silenced when Floyd accidentally smacked Spencer's head on the wall until he finally stopped struggling and went limp. The only upside of the return trip and the water level was that now Floyd could be a git and dip Spencer's head under the water and he'd get no complains. There was also now the water was running from behind him so he didn't have to fight the rising water levels. It took half the time to get back to the hole in the ceiling and back up into the comfort of the dark hole Floyd had abandoned Spencer in not so long ago, not really… no in the grand scheme of things. When you consider how long he _could_ have been gone, this was just a blink of an eye… Floyd didn't think that Spencer was going to have the same idea of it though. Spencer seemed to have a totally different look on time than he himself did. Which was why the watch was for Spencer and not himself. Or he could keep it for Sam? No… Sam would pawn it for drugs. Sam was an unappreciative sod.

Though right now Spencer didn't seem to be showing much appreciation either.

Spencer woke up when Floyd shoved him up through into the cell again and he scrabbled away and sat whimpering and snivelling in a corner. No sign that he was glad to be back. Nothing. Floyd had assumed that the batteries would be dead and had got a new flashlight from the camping store. He tossed it over to Spencer and told him to spare the batteries this time. And for a moment or two Spencer stopped his babbling whine about how he had been left to die and how he could never trust Floyd again… he went on and on until Floyd was going to give up and go find a puppy to set fire to. 'Fuck on a rock. Don't you ever shut up? I thought Sam was bad, but this… damn.'

Spencer wanted to let Floyd know how angry and hurt he was. He wanted to tell Floyd that he really thought he had been left to die. He needed Floyd to understand why that was not something he was going to quickly forgive him for. And he did say it all… and his voice croaked and hurt, but he still managed to say it.

The next problem came when Floyd told Spencer to strip off.

'No.'

'Fucking do it!' Floyd shouted back and now his throat was hurting again too. 'Please Babes. This wont work if you don't get those wet clothes off.'

'No.' Again from Spencer and as a result Floyd threw the bag of goodies at him.

'You are… I don't know! I really don't know! I don't want to be here Spencer. I don't want to look at your miserable face, but I was pulled back here and forced to do this by some damned suffering conscience which you seem to have ignited in my heart and I'm not happy, but fucking take that and you'll see why I asked you to strip. I don't want to fuck you right now. I think we are both too poorly for that, but damn. Why do I bother? What is it about you which has lit something inside of me that shouldn't damned well be there? I should be able to walk away from you… That's a nutrient bar and that's hydrating water… and that's another nutrient bar… Unwrap it before you eat… bloody hell… hungry huh? See that small bag? Tear it open. There's one of those silver blanket things in there. Happy now that you've torn apart that small amount of need I had to keep you safe?'

Spencer pushed the two empty food bar wrappers to the side and slowly and painfully stripped off his clothes and wrapped the thin silver blanket around himself. He said nothing to Floyd, but popped off the lid of the drink and drank deep, squeezing the plastic bottle and knowing that it was going to make him puke and not caring.

'Nothing to say?' Floyd asked him now that there seemed to be a small camping stove being lit. 'I'll make you a hot drink.' Floyd held up a tiny square pack of something. 'Flu remedy. I think we both need it.'

Spencer wanted to tell Floyd to go drown himself, but now… finally warmth and his stomach was gurgling with delight and his throat was soothing in the lovely refreshing water. 'Why did you come back? You told me three weeks. You said you were going to Canada.'

Floyd nodded and handed Spencer his warm drink. 'I know what I said. I changed my mind, but Canada still seems to be a good place to go looking for Sam. You understand why I need to look for him don't you? I thought that this sickness was coming from him, and some of it, maybe some of it was. I know he's scared and hurt. I do have to go get him.'

Spencer now held up another food bar. 'You got this stuff for me?' and he prodded the warm drink Floyd had miraculously made for him in this dark stinking place.

'I got to thinking.' Floyd crawled towards Spencer and sat down next to him. 'I maybe wasn't thinking right when I left you here.' He slipped an arm around Spencer. 'You annoy the hell out of me but for some damned reason, I care and that bit of caring was what pulled me back here and made me stop off to get something for you.'

Spencer nodded and found himself leaning into Floyd. He wasn't sure if it was just because it was warmth or because it was actually Floyd. 'That's about as close to an apology I'll get.' Spencer let him know.

'It wasn't meant to be an apology. I was just explaining why I came back.'

Spencer finished up the last of his drink. 'And you're shivering… I'm cooking like a turkey in here. Want to share some warmth.' But Floyd shook his head.

He didn't want to share warmth. He didn't want it to look as though he'd gone soft or that he really gave a shit. Though maybe that was too late now and he cursed himself as he pulled out the gold watch and handed it to Spencer. 'Saw this and thought of you.' He smiled and then moved away out of reach of this thing that was making him want to wrap his arms around it and hold it and maybe even beg for forgiveness…

'Saw it where?' There was no gift wrapping and Spencer turned the heavy watch over in his hands wondering how much this had cost someone. 'In a store?'

'Ah hu.' Floyd replied. 'A store. I wore it for a day or two.' He lied… and carried on lying. 'Made me think of you. Made me feel closer.'

'You bought this for me?' Spencer slipped it over his hand and clipped the clasp. 'It's awesome. It's absolutely lovely! I… I don't think I should forgive you yet though.'

Floyd shook his head. 'Don't want of expect forgiveness. I've not really done anything wrong. I told you I'd be back and I was back. I was back early even, so I see no reason to ask forgiveness or offer and apology. I think the fact that I thought of you enough to spend good money on you is enough. Now… Rossi… we might have a problem with him and I need you to straighten it out. Not sure how, but I don't want him knowing I'm around and I think he's beginning to twig onto the fact that I need my bits back. You need to get well and then go to him and tell him what is actually happening. You can either exercise your friendship with him and get him to fetch Sam back or I can go, but I'm going to have to go as you and not me. Even if I wasn't officially dead… Canada wont let me in.'

'So you came back for me because you can't get what you want my going alone?'

Floyd nodded and leaned back on the wall. 'Basically. And I knew you were sick and needed to get back to you.'

'Right.' Spencer curled up inside his silver blanket. 'You are… I don't want to say it because I feel I should be grateful for having this blanket and water and food… but damn you Floyd. I need you to go get your bits because I really don't like you very much.'

'Cool. It's a deal then.' Floyd stood up. 'Your car is still parked up outside. I'll drive.' He jangled Spencer's keys at him. 'We can go back to the apartment and you can sleep. But… the longer we leave Sam out there un-tethered the bigger trouble he's going to get in and I can feel it boiling to a point that he's going to end up dead if I don't do something. He's not capable of looking after himself. He just can't deal with people in the proper manner.'

Spencer nodded. 'I need more time before we move. I feel ill Floyd. I just want to sit here and warm through to my bones and drink this and eat those and I want to hear you talking to me.'

'OK.' Floyd muttered and pulled his boots back on and squeezed out some water from his jeans. 'This sudden need to make sure that you're all right. It's not because I really give a shit. Just thought you should know. It's not an emotional thing it's just… well I need you to persuade Rossi and to get my shit back… which I'm seriously doubting I actually want or need. I'm doing just great without it don't you think?'

Another small nod from Spencer. 'I understand what you're saying, but I not convinced. I think you're itching to get closer. You just don't want your bullish manner to waver and make you look like you do actually care about something. Does it really matter if you do? What will it do to you if you admit that you came back because you were worried? What harm will it do to tell me that you thought I'd need warming up and feeding and you felt bad that you'd abandoned me?'

'I didn't abandon you as such. I just forgot where I'd put you. Not the same.' Floyd snatched up a food bar and dipped it in his drink. 'And stop what you're doing. I can't think when you're throwing that look at me. It's like being trapped in a cell with the whore of Babylon so pack it in OK? I don't want…' He stopped and glared at Spencer. 'Look buddy, it's my job to do that… if you're going to make me choke on your smell and pheromones then at least have the courtesy to lay back and open your legs.'


	16. Chapter 16

16

The police wanted another statement from Sam and Sam tried his best to do what was expected of him, but he was getting angry and confused now. He just kept telling them that he wanted to go home. They asked him once again where he had slept and Sam curled his lip at them and shrugged. He hadn't slept in the bed that was certain. They knew that. Sam even knew that, but Sam had previously told them that he couldn't remember and now he was having to remember his lies… even though he'd sort of role played the whole thing after he'd done it he still had to remember what he'd done and what order it had all been done in… and moreover he had to remember smells and sounds and they hadn't been things he'd thought to plan originally and now couldn't remember if he'd said anything about them in the first place. Sam was confused.

'I woke up cold and I went outside and Sally was dead.'

'How do you know she was dead?' The cop asked gently.

'There was a lot of blood.' Sam replied. 'A lot… spreading…' He shut up again. He wasn't sure if it should have still been spreading at that point, but that's what he'd seen… now he shut up and just looked at the cop.

'So you saw a lot of blood. Where was the blood?' Sam looked down at his hands with the memory of that hot sticky blood welling over them as Sally died.

'On – it was… It was on the floor?'

'You don't sound sure.' The cop remarked.

'It was on the floor. Her feet were nearest my door and her head further down and I could see blood which looked to be around her head.'

And so it went on… Sam trying to remember what he'd said previously, trying to get through the muddle in his head as to what was real and what he had claimed was real. He did a bit of crying as he talked to disguise his panic when asked something he didn't know how to answer.

'Were the bed covers pulled back away from John? Was he on this front or back?'

Sam snivelled and said that he must have been on his back because he could see blood on his chest and on his face and Sam said again that he touched John's face and it was hot and sticky…

Again he shut up. He didn't know the cooling rates for blood. Would it have still felt hot? It certainly did when it squirted out of John, but this was later and Sam didn't know. He muttered something about needing a break and they allowed that. Sam at the moment was a witness… even if not everyone was very convinced by the mumbling of a lad who some claimed wouldn't hurt a fly and others claimed was a violent psychopath.

Now they seemed interested in how John and Sally got on together. They asked again about touching, kissing, hugging and Sam replied that he'd never seen that. They asked if Sally and John ever had friends back and Sam explained that he'd not been there long, only a matter of days, not weeks and in that time they'd not had friends around. They wanted to know what time John got home from work and Sam just looked confused now. What the hell did that have to do with anything? Did Sam hear angry words between Sally and John and Sam shrugged. He had very little to base what normal behaviour actually was. 'He didn't hit her; at least when I was around he didn't. She didn't seem to flinch back from him and he didn't from her. I don't think he was hitting her. I didn't get that feeling that he did that. But as I said I was only there a few days or so.'

They now wanted to know more about security and the back door. The back door it seemed had been unlocked from the inside. Someone in the house had opened it. They wanted to know if there would have been a reason for this and Sam slammed his fists down on his knees and stood up and told them he'd had enough and he left the room.

'Security is a big issue with Sam.' The doctor who was sitting in at the interview with Sam said. 'He gets very alarmed if he thinks that his safety has been compromised. I think the idea that the back door had been left unlocked bothers him more than he will say. I don't know if he even realises that is what he finds so difficult. From what he's said to me it's the matter that someone got in the house, not so much that the intruder killed his carers.'

Over the course of the next few days between fits of crying and just laying on his bed refusing to do anything but drool, the cops managed to get a statement off Sam. They wanted doctor's reports though. They needed to know if Sam was stable enough to stand as a witness in court. The doctor almost laughed in the cops' faces. 'That boy is only just capable of remembering to eat when he's hungry. He's a very emotionally disturbed young man and in my opinion forcing him to face what you're asking is tantamount to abuse and I think Sam has suffered enough all ready.'

So for now that was the end, but the cops did say that they would need Sam to be assessed again but their own doctors. They were bothered that this was all an act. There was still no proof that anyone else had been in that house.

'Then I suggest you find it.' The doctor snapped.

'When can I go home?'

The first question out of Sam's mouth every time he saw someone who looked official. He needed to at least find Spencer if Floyd wasn't around. He wanted to rest his weary and lonely head on a familiar chest and feel friendly and familiar arms wrap around him. The chaos in Sam's head felt to him as though it was increasing. His nightmares were getting worse. Now he attempted to stay awake and never have to sleep. The horror of what he saw when he closed his eyes was too much for him. He curled up in dark places and howled like a dog and cried like a small child and begged them over and over again to let him go home! Let him go home to Spencer.

It was during this time, when Sam seemed to be falling apart faster than they could fix him that they put out their first feelers for this mysterious Dr Spencer Reid and the even more mysterious Floyd Flanders. They were concerned that although Sam insisted that it was Iolanda who had been hurting him that actually it was these other two people. And that was why Spencer and Floyd's names flashed up on Garcia's little alert box. She sat staring at it for a while and then gave Rossi a call.

'The Canadian authorities are looking for Reid and Flanders.' She didn't know why. She couldn't give the reason why. She could however give Rossi the names and contact numbers and email and addresses of those making the enquiries. A hospital come rehab centre in Quebec. So it was David Rossi who called them… and they were happy to offload this weird teenager onto someone. 'He's here illegally. Apparently he just walked over the border during the snow.' Rossi was then given a brief story of what had happened so far and Rossi listened with sweat popping out of the pore of his skin. They were dismissing Sam as a suspect. Rossi wouldn't have dismissed it so easily or quickly. He was going to tell them this but then he was asked if he could have a word with Sam. Maybe it would settle him if he could hear a familiar voice. Dave hadn't been prepared for this but he told them… 'Of course!' And the next voice he heard was the voice of the lad he'd given up for dead.

'Oh my fucking _God_! Dave? Oh fucking hell! You have no fucking idea how bloody fucking happy this has made me! Come and get me! You _have_ to come and get me! They wont fucking let me go! Oh my god! The fucking hell I've been through and they don't believe a damned word I've said and they even… _even_ sent me back to Iolanda for a while and I've said and said that he's a bastard who's been fingering and touching me up for as long as I can remember and fuck it – would you believe that they believe Iolanda over me? After all I said he'd done… and fucking hell… you know I'm crying I'm so damned happy! The Greens got murdered! I'm like a fucking curse… Rossi…?' Sam stopped talking and took a breath. 'Dave?'

'I'm listening Sam.' Dave sighed back again.

'Well then what happened to Dad…I mean Floyd what happened cos I know something bad happened some bad shit and Iolanda said he's dead but I don't believe him. I don't think he's dead. Is he dead? Oh my GOD! He's dead? That's…'

'Sam.' Dave spoke loudly to get over the babbling voice of Sam. 'Sam… I can get you brought back here but… Iolanda possibly wasn't lying about Floyd… but calm… calm… Sam?'

Sam had thrown the phone at the doctor and then thrown himself on to the floor and started wailing. The doctor took up the call from there on in and told Dave that all paperwork to have Sam returned to the correct country was sitting here. They just needed an adult to pick him up and they didn't think he was capable of flying alone. A lot of negotiations later and Rossi had arranged to have Sam flown home with a doctor to travel with him. It was going to cost a damned fortune but Dave actually didn't like the idea of being on a plane with a panicking Sam and if Floyd was any guide, then Sam was going to have to be sedated and put in a cage in baggage to stop him trying to escape. It wasn't a trip Dave wanted to take and this was still puzzling him… and now it seemed that Spencer had disappeared… and with the knowledge that someone was using his ID it was a mess that Dave felt was pulling him down, like a drowning man.

o-o-o

Floyd sat at arms length from Spencer and watched him carefully. He could feel a tugging on something in his mind and in his body. Not the sort of tugging that made him want to rip and rend and kill, but a different sort and he wasn't so sure that he was comfortable with it. Spencer had asked him to admit that he'd been worried, and maybe he had been, but that really was wrong. He didn't want to feel tied to one person, yet he didn't think that he was able to rip himself away from him. The matter of the sickness he'd felt, Spencer's sickness it seemed, made it clear in his neat and ordered mind that this man was someone he needed to keep close and hold and… love? But that messed up brutal, violent, monster part of him thought that he needed to keep this person away – far away. Spencer was a weakness which he couldn't afford to have. It had given Iolanda an opening to probe and wangle his way in and destroy him and that was something that not even Taki had managed to do… not that Taki was anything compared to Iolanda. He moved closer to Spencer when he saw that his head had dropped and his breathing had become deep and sleepy. He spoke to Spencer sort of softly. 'Are you asleep?' Which was the most stupid question ever. Why do people ask that? What answer do they want when they do? There was no reply though so Floyd moved in tight and wrapped an arm around his treasure. He could feel the heat coming from Spencer's head, but the rough breathing had settled slightly. 'You just needed me to be here.' Floyd informed him. 'You just fall apart when I'm not there to guide you.' He pulled some of the silver blanket off Spencer and wrapped it around himself too and pulled this strange person in tight and close and placed a hand on Spencer's chest and felt his heart beating and this chest wheezing in and out as he breathed and Floyd began to wonder if he could be without this and if he couldn't where did that leave Sam? And now that he was thinking about Sam… why the hell hadn't Spencer gone looking for him when he had the chance and if Sam was still out there and alive and well, where the hell was he? Why hadn't Sam come back? Did Iolanda have him again?


	17. Chapter 17

17

Rossi had the time of the flight. It was a bright spring morning as he sat looking up at the arrivals board at the airport. He had about half an hour to waste and so went for coffee and a donut and paced and wondered what the devil he was going to do with Sam once he was retrieved. He'd called Spencer more than once and pushed a note under his door, asking him to get in contact and there'd been nothing. Now that his _concern_ for Sam had changed from thinking he was dead to wondering if Sam was going to hijack the plane, he was able to wonder more about Spencer and the man who had used his name to get information from Sheerwater via a lawyer. The more he thought of the description the more he was pasting Floyd over the description; though that was insane. The man had clearly died. They'd buried his remains and you don't just wake up and recover from being mostly eaten by dogs.

He called Spencer again. Still no answer. He didn't bother leaving a message this time. If Spencer ever bothered to check his messages then he'd know that Sam had been found. But now his thoughts went back to Sam as he looked up and saw that the flight had landed. He stood and stretched and paced more. It would be a while before the passengers made it through customs and Dave just had to stand and wait and try to prepare for any reaction from Sam.

And he waited.

And he waited… and finally a small group of people exited. One sitting slumped in a wheelchair, another pushing… a few airport security. Dave raised an eyebrow but stepped forwards.

'Agent Rossi.' He said as he put a hand out to greet, but his eyes were locked on the person in the wheelchair. He had his head down, his hands laying limply in his lap and the only way Dave could tell that the person was alive was the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. It didn't actually _look_ like Sam. This person looked sick and frail and had sort hair.

'Doctor Bedlow.' He gripped Rossi's hand in a fashion which Dave thought signalled relief. 'Not a good flight. We had to have him sedated and restrained. I might suggest that if you have a long trip that you take a train. We were just fortunate I suppose that Sam's condition had been…' The doctor stopped talking as Rossi knelt in front of the chair and placed a hand on Sam's knee.

'Sam? It's me… I'll take you somewhere safe.' He wasn't expecting a reply and didn't receive a verbal one, but Sam looked up into Dave's eyes and gave him a small side smirk. It was the eyes though, it was Sam's eyes that let Rossi know that this boy was no more sedated that he himself was. He looked up at the doctor and nodded. 'I'll take it from here then.' He moved around and allowed the doctor to move out of the way. 'We'll get a cab. I assume I can leave the chair out there?' He didn't wait for an answer but began to push Sam out of the airport and towards the outside.

'I'm not happy.' Sam muttered as the doors whooshed open and they stood amongst trolleys and suitcases.

Dave carried on walking towards where the cabs waited. 'I'm sure you're not very happy. I'm not over the moon either. But I'm glad you're well.'

Sam straightened his back and turned to look at Rossi. 'I'm not well though. I'm feeling so very ill.' He coughed weakly to demonstrate.

'Then I'll drop you off at the hospital.'

Sam's hand slapped down on the arm rests. 'I don't need hospital. I need other stuff. You know? I need to feel…'

'You're either ill or you're not. I'm glad you're well enough to complain, but Sam, I'm not wrapping you in cotton wool and protecting you from the elements. It's time you grew up. It's time that you stopped behaving like a child and moved towards being an adult. You can't expect people to tip toe around on egg shells forever. You're going to look pretty stupid when you're my age and you're still having tantrums.'

'I can walk from here.' Sam snapped back. 'And it's great to see you too, by the way. Wonderful. Where's my dad and Spencer… Floyd… where's Floyd and Spencer.'

This was another thing which was concerning Rossi more and more. It almost sounded like a slip up when Sam referred to Floyd as _dad_. It sounded like a genuine mistake. So that left Dave with the question as to who really _was _Sam's dad and how did Floyd fit into all of this and where did that leave Spencer? 'I've been trying to contact Reid. He's not answering his phone. I've left messages. He knows you are alive and well.'

'Why wouldn't I be alive?' Sam asked as he stood there in his beige with his hair chopped off and his face looking pinched and the shadows under his eyes looking purple and painful.

'There was speculation that you'd… well that the weather…'

Sam sighed but pulled himself up and squared his shoulders. 'I need cash and a cell phone.' He instructed Dave. 'I can probably stay with Spence if that's not a problem, so you can take me there and drop me off… but yeah, some cash would be good and I absofuckinglutely have to have new clothes. I can't walk around looking like this and my hat got lost during the struggle on the flight and I need something to cover my head. I feel very exposed.' He stopped and stood at the end of a queue of people waiting for a cab. He didn't push in, he didn't moan or make up fuss about the wait, but he carried on with his list of necessaries. 'I think I've become vegetarian so I'd like you to take me to a store and get me something I can eat and _want_ to eat and not the crap I've been served up in hospitals and places for fuck knows how long. And I don't expect or want questions about the Greens. Just let it be. I really can't let my damaged psyche heal if I'm being asked all the time to recall horrors. I want it forgotten. I've also decided that I _would_ like to get an education because if Floyd is dead and I'm not, then it means I have future without him and I'd like to choose my own course and direction and not have people pushing me along and around. This cab?' Sam opened the door of the vehicle and slid in onto the back seat. Rossi took a deep breath and let it out slowly and then joined Sam… who started talking again before Dave had given directions. 'People have preconceived ideas of what and who I am. I've never been able to escape that. I've been either with Iolanda, Floyd or I've been locked away for being bonkers.' He leaned of Dave as he spoke, sucking up all the love he could because he had a feeling that Dave wasn't going to be hanging around. 'So can you get me a place at a uni and firstly can you get me some new clothes, because as you can see I've been returned to America with nothing even though I had a small collection of things which were mine. That is part of a person's identity don't you think? They have proof of their former lives because they have their things to look at and touch, even if it's a pebble you picked up or a bit of carved bone… you know what I mean. I've nothing and as you can see Iolanda cut my hair off. Can you imagine having nothing at all? That's what it's like. Everything is gone. Even the people I loved have gone.' And Sam slipped sideways with his head on Dave's lap and broke out into long hard sobs.

Dave was feeling as though he needed to pet the boy and pat him on his shoulder and say everything Sam thought he wanted to hear, but Dave pushed Sam back out of the way again and reminded him that he had belongings at home. 'I'll take you to the house. You can't get any clothes and belongings you need from here. I'm not going to get you a cell phone and I'm not going to provide you with a new closet full of clothes. You, young man, have caused a lot of worry and now you are back I will do what you've requested and find some uni or college that will take you, but you have no formal education so I think you need to at least get high school and college done before you start thinking of uni.' Dave saw a dark look spreading over Sam's face. The purple bruises seemed to change colour and darken as he looked at his face. 'Not because I don't think you're intelligent enough to do what a university would ask of you, but because you need to learn how to study. You need to learn how to fit in and you need to start to have fun and be able to relax.'

The car stopped and Sam peered out of the window at the house they'd lived in for what seemed such a short while… and so long ago. If there was anything of his left there then… 'There's a for sale sign.' Sam pointed out.

'The sale is on hold for now. Legal twists.'

'Floyd was selling our house? Why?'

Rossi took hold of Sam's hand now. He didn't want him bolting or panicking. So far the journey had been full of sobbing and complaints, but no actual abuse or shouting. 'Iolanda put a lot of Floyd's properties on the market. I don't think it will sell and nothing has been moved. As far as we know Iolanda has never been here. It's safe.'

'I'll go pack then… but where am I to go and aren't I old enough to just stay here? Is there a reason why I can't get a job and live here in my own house? It's not like…'

'You have no education. You have a problem socialising. You seem to be agoraphobic and you have drug and alcohol abuse issues. You can't stay here alone.'

Sam ground his teeth and gave Dave a dirty look. 'Fine. Have me locked away again then. It's all anyone wants to do with me. Fuck me or lock me in a cell.'

'There are places which give you support. A bedsit or small apartment where you can call for help if you need.'

'A residential home for adults.' Sam moaned. 'OK. OK… I understand. I'll go pack and change and you find me somewhere in the area I can live and then find Spencer and then find Floyd because though people keep telling me that he's dead I have this gut feeling… like a tingle… that he's not as dead as you think he is… but I have another tingle telling me that he's totally dead and gone. I'm trying to sort out one tingle from the other and see which I should home in on. All tingles are much the same though. It's not easy.'

The house felt creepy and hollow to Sam. There were remains of where they'd lived almost happily together for a while, but now it smelt funny and there was dust laying over the furniture and the windows were fogged and dirty. Sam didn't really look around too much downstairs because he was now thinking that he actually wouldn't want to stay here on his own. It made him feel very alone and very sad as his footsteps echoed up the stairs. He went straight to his old room, stripped off the horrible things he was wearing and pulled out a small selection of stuff to put on and take with him. Most of it was crumpled and would need ironing before he could wear it, but he found some black jeans and a black shirt and he even located another baseball cap. There was nothing else though which made him feel like it belonged to him, but the jeans mostly fitted him… but he'd lost weight again and they weren't as tight as they had been. Nothing felt quite right any more. Everything was slightly off kilter and just wrong. He tucked the few things he'd salvaged under his arm and went back outside to Rossi, replacing the key under the doormat on his way. And it was with a sullen sadness that he sat back in the cab and asked Rossi where they were going to go next.

o-o-o

Floyd performed a miracle. He knew that he was only a step away from being a god, but it still surprised him slightly that he managed to get Spencer out of the stinking cell and into his car without too much trouble. Then Floyd drove Spencer home to his apartment and didn't run over a single or married person on the way. He talked to Spencer about the importance of honesty and how if they were going to rebuild a relationship then they were going to have to really get to know each other again.

Spencer didn't _want_ a relationship with this fake Floyd. He wanted back the one he could predict. He wanted back the one who would never have left him to rot in a dark, stinking cell. He needed to talk to him about the loss of the soul and the loss of what was contained in his heart and he needed to persuade Floyd that the easiest way to get to know him again was to go and fix himself. Until that had happened, Spencer didn't want Floyd. Yet he desperately needed _Floyd_. He missed him. He missed those little glances and the way he would lick his lips when he was thinking. He missed sitting and being read to and the food… everything.

Spencer sunk into his shabby chair and Floyd went and got out of his wet clothes. He brought a bathrobe back for Spencer to slip into and he personally made the coffee and found something to defrost in the freezer. He thought it was pork, but it might have been something else. Hard to tell when it's frozen, but he didn't think Spencer was going to complain. He made sure that this person he was meant to love was warm and comfortable. He put on some light classical music… and he thought that there might have been something else he should have been doing… maybe something intimate or caring but he just stood there as the microwave pinged that the meat was ready to be cooked and stared at Spencer.

'What's wrong now?' Spencer asked him. He was finally warming up, but he could still smell the sewers and the death on his skin. 'I'm going to soak in the bath.' He stood and looked at Floyd who was staring back at him. 'Have I done something wrong again?'

Floyd shook his head, but those unblinking eyes didn't leave Spencer. 'Do you think that if I walked out now…'

'Right!' Spencer cut him off. 'You're going to leave me again? Go then! Go! Whatever mission it is you're on get it done. I've no doubt I'll be still here waiting for you.'

Now Floyd nodded. 'Should I run your bath?' A frown creased his forehead. 'Rub your back?' Floyd stepped back so that Spencer could walk past him to the bathroom. 'I'll cook dinner then huh?' Dinner?'

'Whatever.' Spencer called back as he slammed the bathroom door and bolted it behind him leaving a puzzled Floyd behind. Spencer ran the hot and cold water and then added bubble bath, but for a while he just sat on the toilet with the lid down and with his head in his hands. It was one thing feeling trapped by Floyd, but this wasn't Floyd. This was a very thin pretence and now that he was home he wanted this monster gone. He wanted him to just up and leave and do what he had to do and maybe go find his heart and liver, but Spencer didn't want him in his home. Floyd was a stranger. Those little ticks… they weren't Floyd. Those twitches and clicks… that look in his eye… even the way he was walking was wrong. He pulled off the ragged stinking things he had on and dropped them next to the bin. Washing them wasn't going to help them now. Spencer slipped into the tub and breathed a long sigh of relief as the smell of the bath water finally over powered his own smells. He washed his hair, used nail brush on his hands, fingers, nails, feet, toes, legs, inner arms… he scrubbed at his chest and behind his ears… and the soothing steam let him breath out the last of the disgusting stuff he'd been forced to breath in. Finally he was beginning to feel like himself again. He closed his eyes and with his head tipped back he fell asleep.

Floyd stood staring at the bathroom door for a while and then walked to the kitchen and fried up the meat with some spices and tomatoes out of a can. There was nothing fresh – all of the fresh food had gone off a while ago, but canned was going to be just fine. He put a lid on the pot and left the mix to simmer and returned to the bathroom door and placed his hands on it and he listened. There was no sound, but there was a feeling of calm coming from the room. He thought maybe that Spencer was sleeping.

A small red light was flashing on Spencer's answer machine. Floyd thought of placing the damned thing on the floor and stamping on it, but changed his mind. He stood in front of it and pressed the button to play the messages.

'_You have five messages. Message one: _Reid, it's Dave. Call me back._ Message two:_ Reid, I need to talk to you about Flanders. Call me. _Message three:_ Reid? Spencer… I've found Sam. He's in Canada and is being flown home tomorrow. Call me. _Message four_: Spencer if you get this message call me. We need to discuss what we are going to do with Sam. I'm not happy that this is being left to me, but the lad needs someone to make the decisions. _Message five_: I'll not bother calling again. Call me when you get this. _End of messages_.' Floyd played them again and then deleted them. Spencer didn't have to know this. It was shit that he wanted to deal with alone. He wanted to discover The Sam again without the hindrance of Spencer looking over his shoulder. He walked to the kitchen and checked the food and seeing that it was almost done, removed it from the heat and turned off the hob. Again… again he went to the bathroom door and again he placed his hands on there. He thought of leaving Spencer a message to tell him that he went out for something and would be back soon, but he wasn't sure that he _would_ be back soon. He wasn't sure that he'd be back at all. The lure to go and get Sam and hold Sam and touch Sam was so much greater than the need to make Spencer happy.

So why he was standing undecided in the hallway when a fresh Spencer finally emerged he wasn't sure. 'I… I… erm… cooked.' He muttered at the simply lovely thing standing there.

Spencer smiled. 'Why don't you take a bath?'

'I don't need one.' Floyd stood there with a green fog of stink around him, but Spencer wasn't going to argue. 'I need to go out…'

'Then go.' And Spencer turned his back and walked off to the lounge.

'You don't want me to leave.' Floyd remarked.

'No, maybe I don't want you to leave. Maybe I'm worried that when you return you'll have even less of the Floyd I loved inside of you. You're not the guy who protected me from the bullies at school. You're not the guy who would do anything and everything to keep me safe.'

'Whoah! What the hell?' Floyd snapped. 'I had you secure! You were the one who wondered off!'

'Secure?' Spencer turned to face this man now. 'You kidnapped me and stuck me in a hole not fit for a damned rat! You left me locked in there with no food and only poisoned water to drink. You left me with decaying bodies and sewage and you think that was safe? You think that's keeping someone loved and secure and needed and wanted?'

Floyd for a moment looked stunned. 'But it was _you_ who wandered off.' He repeated.

'I shouldn't have been there in the first place!' Spencer shouted and this brought on a bout of coughing. He walked to his chair and threw himself into it.

'And now you act like a petulant child! I did what I could! I did what I thought was right! I'd been living there. It was fine for me! What makes you so fucking special?'

'You weren't locked in!' Spencer raged back. 'You can see in the dark! You don't need food! You can filter the poisons in the water! It was OK for you because you are a monster and that's the sort of places _assholes_ like you live!' Maybe that was too much, but it had to be said.

'I rescued you!' Floyd raged back at him. 'I got you… I thought… I got you a watch!'

Spencer picked it up off the side table and threw it in Floyd's direction. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor with a small broken tinkling sound.

'You spiteful minded little bitch!' Floyd howled at him. 'I should fucking… I should… I need… I…'

'What? You want to hit me? Go on then! Hit me! Break my jaw again! Smash my teeth… choke me and beat me. It's nothing new. Nothing I can't deal with. What do you do to someone you can't kill but you can't torture any more? How do you keep them in check, Floyd? I'm interested in finding out.'

'You're doing my fucking head in! What the hell is wrong with you?'

'Nothing!' And Spencer was on his feet again. 'Get the hell out of my apartment and don't you come back until you understand what you did and can find it in what ever you call a heart to apologise to me.'

'SORRY!' Floyd shouted back. 'I'm sorry! It wont happen again… until next time.' But he was grinning now and backing away. 'I've things I need to do. Take my apology and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.

'Hit me!' Spencer sneered at Floyd. 'Hit me! Come on! Show me you're a man. Show me you have control over me. Come on Floyd, what are you waiting for… you want me begging on my knees? You want me thanking you for the rescue? You want gratitude for what you did? NEVER!' The last word was shouted. 'It's not going to happen. You locked me in there then freaked out when you felt how ill I was. That's _all_ that was. The watch… I don't know… I just don't know… I don't understand it! But you panicked. Yes! That's what that feeling was Floyd. I was panic. Grow used to it. Now get out and leave me alone. I don't need you and your pathetic impersonation of someone I loved. I don't love you. I can't love you. I don't want you near me. You make my skin crawl. You make me want to puke.'

'Nice. You make me want to castrate you.' Floyd pulled open the door. 'and sometimes my urges can't be stopped. Motherfucker.'

The door slammed and Spencer stood staring at the door, now speaking quietly and to himself. 'Please come back. Come back to me, Floyd.'

Spencer was angry. He still felt ill. He was hurt emotionally and physically. He drank a bit of whisky and he smoked a few cigarettes and drank more whisky… then with a rumbling stomach and a light head he made his way to the kitchen to see what Floyd had been making. He opened the pot and looked inside and frowned. Dare he eat something Floyd had made him? He wasn't sure about that, but there seemed little else to eat, so he warmed a bit up and had a taste… and then warmed more up and ate a lot. It felt good to over eat. It felt good to have all that food in his stomach and it felt even better when it all came back up again down the toilet. It gave him pleasure that he thought he shouldn't have been feeling, but he also felt both full and purged. He went to the bedroom and put on pyjamas and then slid under the covers. He didn't bother locking the main door. What was the point? Anyone he'd want to keep out could just walk on in anyway! The dry warmth of the bed and the comfort of the pillow and the familiar smells of washing powder and home soon had Spencer drifting off to sleep. Maybe Floyd would come back as he slept and wreak his vengeance on Spencer. Maybe Iolanda would pop round and slit his throat… maybe Rossi would turn up and imply that he was useless. Maybe the phone would ring and Garcia would ask if he wanted company – which certainly didn't! He really didn't care all that much though. He could at least put Garcia off and she wouldn't just walk in. The others? Well Spencer didn't give a whole damn. He just wanted to sleep and be able to wake up and think in a straight line.

o-o-o

Floyd prowled the streets. He was confused. He had no idea why Spencer had reacted the way he had. It just went to prove to him that the bloke was off his rocker. He did though stand in front of a shop for a while looking at watches. He purchased one from his dwindling funds and also picked up some roses and a pizza. He ate the pizza, threw the flowers away and stuffed the watch in his pocket. There was some faint thought in his head that you were meant to think of other people and what they liked… but he was having trouble getting his head around that concept. He also had a feeling that he needed to contact Rossi but was unsure of the reception he'd get, but there seemed to be a problem trying to connect with Sam. Floyd was sure that he should just _know_ where the little punk was, but again… couldn't.

'One thing at a time.' He muttered and carried on walking. He walked for three days… around and around the city in the shadows. He picked pockets, ate in small diners, bought food and drink off street vendors and slipped into the shadows at night. He slept in doorways, behind a bin… and in the bed of a nice young man who paid Floyd for the pleasure. Prostitution… being a whore… it wasn't a label that Floyd wanted, but the guy was OK and the offer was made and another night sleeping in the gutter wasn't as desirable as sewing his seed. They showered together. They knelt, stood, leaned… sat… on every surface of the small apartment… and finally it was an almost loving tender Floyd who curled up with the stranger – and really it might have hurt Spencer the most that Floyd was still there in the morning… that Floyd cooked breakfast for this slut and that Floyd made coffee and they sat and smoked and laughed and actually Floyd turned down the money and made a date to meet him again in a couple of days. The guy knew that Floyd wouldn't be back, but a free fuck is a free fuck… he wasn't going to complain. He gave Floyd his phone number and Floyd gave him Spencer's and then he left with a bounce in his step, ready to confront Rossi on the Sam issue.

He just didn't quite know what the Sam issue was any more.

The guy didn't know and never _would_ know how lucky he had been to have met Floyd when he wasn't hungry. There could be no other reason he was still alive.

o-o-o

Sam had lodgings. It was a small bedsit with his own bathroom. There was someone on duty 24/7 in case of emergencies. There was ten others living here. A vast age range. All of them had mental health issues. It was costing and though Rossi had said he'd cover the costs for now, Sam wanted to do that himself. He didn't want to be any more beholden to Dave than he had to be. He did need him though. He needed him to show that he cared. He needed him to tell him that he was doing well. Sam needed constant praise for how well he was coping. He called Dave on the phone at all hours night and day asking if he should go to bed now, if he thought it was going to rain, if he thought it was better to snort than to inject. He phoned to talk about a TV show or to tell him what he'd had for dinner.

Sam was lonely.

He tried talking to the other people in the building but they seemed to have their own lives and bubbles and circles and Sam was new and not permitted in yet.

Sam walked to the university and told them that he desperately needed to get on a course and study the stars. He insisted that he needed an interview. He told them that he had no formal education but would sit an entrance exam. He was happy and willing to talk to them about it. They would in exchange be getting a willing and very able student who would be part of their research team. They told Sam that they didn't have time. They told him that it didn't work like that. They told him to stop calling and wasting their time. It was a terrible rejection for Sam who had assumed that they'd be falling over themselves to have him at their university. He called Rossi to moan at him about it and to get him to help, but Rossi didn't answer his phone. He didn't answer it five minutes later either. He didn't reply to the messages Sam left… he had stopped taking Sam's calls.

Sam could take a lot. He accepted that he was scum. He accepted that he'd been created to be used… but he still found rejection horribly hard to accept. First the uni and now Rossi… He thought about calling Spencer, but now he was worried that Spencer wouldn't want to know him either. After all he was nothing. Why _would_ someone want to talk to him and listen to him and advice him what to do next.

He spoke to the warden in the building. He managed to get his foot in the door so that the guy couldn't close it. He wanted to know what he should do. 'I don't have a job and the uni wont have me. I need a job.' He told Mr Warren. 'I need help. I need someone to tell me how to go about it.'

Warren looked at the skinny kid standing in front of him and told him to go to all the small independent eateries and ask if he could work for them. Warren said that places like that would take someone to wash dishes or clear tables. Sam ground his teeth at Warren and managed a nod.

'My intelligence isn't going to be tested.' He told him.

'I'm not here to give that sort of help. I'm here to make sure you don't burn your apartment down and that you're not walking the streets naked. It's not up to me where you work.'

Sam removed his foot. He was going to tell the guy to go rot in hell, but the door was closed before he had the chance… and so in his white jeans and is little black shirt and his black boots, Sam went out onto the streets to look for work.

o-o-o

Floyd stood in the shadow of some bushes and waited. He still wasn't sure that this was the right thing to do, but he was running out of ideas. He watched Rossi pull up in his driveway, lock the car and walk to his front door. Floyd waited. He stood deadly still. He didn't want Rossi to see him yet. He needed to wait until the exact right time, and that was just as the man slipped the key in the front door. Floyd bolted from his hiding place and was pushing Dave through the door and slamming it behind him before Dave even knew what was going on and before Floyd could change his mind.


	18. Chapter 18

18

Charlie's All Day All Nite.

That's what the place was called. Charlie himself was an obese bald man who stank of onions. He was married to Lara who was a small pinch faced woman with small darting suspicious eyes and her long hair scraped back in a pony tail. They together ran the small pie and coffee shop down a slightly grubby back street. They place as clean. The place seemed popular and got very busy at night.

They gave Sam a frown when he walked in and bought a coffee and asked if there were any jobs going. They stood there, Charlie with his fat arms crossed over his fat chest and Lara with her eyes darting and her hands stuffed down in her apron. He was asked how old he was and Sam told there that he was sixteen. They asked him if he was homeless and Sam said that his lived about half hour walk away in an apartment. He told them that if he couldn't find a job quickly that he'd lose his home and be on the streets again. He gave them a sorry story of loneliness and despair. He told them that he had no family or anyone to keep an eye on him.

They asked if he had any problems with drugs or alcohol and Sam laughed and told them that he wished he had money so that he could waste it on such things, but no… he had no problems. They asked him if he was a fag. They didn't like fags and he looked sort of girly… was he a fag? Sam denied it. He apologised for his appearance and admitted that sometimes people made assumptions because of the way he dressed, but he certainly wasn't a dirty fag and the thought of what the queers did to each other made his skin crawl. Sam could feel that his face was flushing with a quick hot flow of blood. Now he'd lost everything he owned apart from a few items of clothing which had never really been his in the first place because he never really got to wear any of his nice stuff, then he lost his lovely hair, now he was having to deny his sexuality just so he could work with two really revolting people so that he could pay rent in a place for nutters. It made him want to cry… but the denials seemed to work. They offered him a job. They told him that he'd be paid a basic wage because the job didn't require any skills. He was told he'd have to work the night shift and then was taken through to the big shiny kitchen. A machine rumbled in the corner and the room smelt of cooking, pies and stews. He was told how the dishwashing machine worked. He was told that the big pans were washed by hand. He was told that the place would stay spotless at all times. He was told what time he was expected and if he was late the job would go to someone else. Sam agreed to everything. The smells of cooking were so delicious that his stomach rumbled and his mouth watered. It wasn't the sort of job he wanted, but at least he was proving to the world that he could cope. He could do this.

o-o-o

Dave didn't have to turn around. He knew whose hand that was between his shoulder blades. He could _smell_ who it was. There was only one person who could smell that bad. He turned slowly and nodded as though there was no surprise or shock to see a dead man standing there. He felt like he should be rubbing his eyes to make the apparition go away, but he just sighed.

'I need your help.' Floyd grabbed Rossi by the arm and half dragged him through to the lounge. He indicated the couch for Rossi but he didn't want to sit. Floyd wanted to pace and try to get all of this out and explain it all and have it make sense… even to a disbeliever like Rossi.

'If I could prove that there was no god or gods… If I could hold irrefutable evidence in my hand and offer it to you, would you accept it?'

Dave didn't sit; he walked to where he kept his drink and poured himself a whisky. He poured one for Flanders too but left it on the small cabinet. He didn't want to risk getting too close to the man for now. 'I don't think I would.' Dave said. 'I think if I was to discover absolutely that everything I had believed in since I was a young child was wrong… I'd have a problem with that. I would have to rethink my whole life. I would concern myself over time wasted and then I would concern myself over what actually happens when you die. I'd mistrust your evidence.'

Floyd held out his hand towards Rossi. 'And what if I could prove to you that there was a spirit who had control over your life and you had no option but to follow the will of others. What if I told you and could prove to you that nothing you do and no thought that you have is your own.'

'I would assume that you're crazy. I would advise that you sought help. Saw a doctor.'

'And what… what if I could prove to you that Angels walk amongst you… that they are there to protect and observe?'

'Again, I would advise that you reached out to someone, maybe a priest, and got help.'

'Then how do you account for me being here?' Floyd walked to the drink and picked it up.

Dave shook his head and sighed. 'I would assume that the person we buried wasn't you. That's the only answer there is. An error was made somehow by someone. I'd ask that the remains were disinterred and tested again. I would want to know how the error was made and ensure that it never happened again. It's a fine game Flanders, but I don't understand the rules. I don't know what you need to do to win… can you win?' Rossi sat down on the arm of the couch.

Floyd gave a small smile. 'It's not a game, but rules still need to be adhered to. I need something from you. I need your help.'

'You took Reid's ID and tried to get a lawyer to intervene for you.' Dave told him. 'I just… now that you are standing there, the evidence as such, I don't know _why_ you would be demanding the remains of someone who is not you.'

'It's complicated.' Floyd told him.

'I'm ready and willing to learn. Tell me… if you were not dead, where were you? Why were you allowing Spencer to grieve? Why didn't you go and find Sam. Why leave the mess behind for others to clean up. It's not our job. You mess up, you fix it.'

'And that's exactly what I'm trying to do. Everyone has a part of them… here…' Floyd touched his chest and then a place just under his ribs. '…those places where the soul and the spirit live. In the heart and in the liver. To kill… to dispose of an immortal there is a process you have to go through. It's not easy.'

'I wouldn't think it would be. It's not real though. There is no such thing as immortality and if you think that there is then once more…'

'Seek help… You see this is so hard to explain. As a god fearing man, as a believer in all that shite, surely you can reach in a bit further and actually…'

Rossi stood up. He placed his empty glass on the side and shook his head. 'I'm going to cook dinner. You are welcome to stay and I will listen to you, but I'm not going to pretend that I believe you or even understand what you're saying. As long as you understand that and realise that I'm not going to go running around wiping your mess up behind you… maybe we can sort through it.' Dave then gave Floyd a long calculating look. 'Do you know where Reid is?'

Floyd smiled slightly and nodded. 'His apartment. At least that's where I last saw him. You've found Sam I hear. That's something else I need to talk to you about, but first I have to explain that I might appear to be me, but internally and maybe even mentally I'm not complete.'

'No, first you will removed those dirty clothes and let me wash them. Then you will take a shower. I'm not going to sit and discuss my belief system with someone who smells like he's been camping out in a dumpster. There's a bathrobe on the back of the door. You do that one small service for me while I cook and yes, I'll listen to what you have to say.'

Floyd did as he was asked and stripped off there in the lounge. He threw his dirty clothes at Rossi and placed his boots next to the chair and wandered down the hallway towards the small downstairs bathroom Dave had pointed out.

Dave waited for the sounds of the shower and picked up the phone and called Spencer. The phone rang three times and then a click. 'Hi… I'm here but I'm really not in the mood to talk to you. Call me back later OK?'

'Reid?' Dave snapped at the voice. 'Are you all right?'

'Oh Rossi. Erm – yes I'm all right I guess. Tired. Did you need something?'

'I was getting concerned. I've been trying to contact you.'

There was a tense bit of silence and then Reid spoke in quick little jerks. 'I'm OK. You don't need to… you don't need to check up on me. I'm just tired.'

Dave apologised for disturbing him and placed the phone down. He then stuck Floyd's jeans and shirt in the wash and put his jacket on a peg. He sprayed it with a squirt of refreshing disinfectant and then got to cooking. He was just preparing the pasta when Floyd returned and picked up one of the glasses of wine sitting there waiting for him. 'You checked that Spencer was at home?' Floyd confronted Rossi with no doubts.

'Of course. I need evidence. I've told you that.'

'Yet you go to mass and you pray to a god…' Floyd shrugged. '…where is your evidence? I'm not here to dismiss your thoughts on that, but to add to it. Make it a more rounded system to trust and believe. As I said there are ways to kill an immortal… but before I go into that I'll tell you something else. Centuries ago when the colonies were first settling over here, when medical science was still in its infancy and the _doctors_ likely killed more people than they saved… There was a belief, though which seemed fairly reasonable and common, it was raised a simple question – what is blood for? We know the answer to that now, at least we know the medical answer to that question, but they believed that the heart pumped the blood around our bodies and that the blood carried our spirit. When the heart stopped, the spirit stopped flowing and the person died. It was logical and I can see the reasoning for this, but obviously science steps in and disproves that theory, but I put this to you Dave, sometimes science clouds the reality. The heart holds the essence of a person. That's one of the first steps you must take when you kill an immortal. You _must_ remove the heart. The second stage is to make sure that the spirit and the soul are both removed and so the liver goes with it. I believe that those are the two things being kept back. Can you see that I need them?'

'Dinner is ready.' Rossi replied. 'It was a good speech but as you said, science has proven your theory incorrect.' He pushed a bowl of food towards Floyd and placed a fork next to it on the counter.

Floyd picked up the fork and stabbed it into the food. 'But you see in some circumstances, if the conditions are right, my theory stops being a theory and becomes truth. If Iolanda had eaten my heart and liver I would be in a sorry state right now, a bit sorrier than I all ready am. I am having confusing and conflicting thoughts and feelings. My brain, which stayed attached to my body is firing information at me, but my heart, my soul and my spirit are shadowing these thoughts with negativity. I was once in love with Dr Spencer Reid. I no longer am, but though my spirit is in denial and though my soul will find no place for him, my mind… it's a whirling mess. Do I comfort my mind or my spirit? That's my problem. Do I want to love that man again? Will I be happy? You see, though I loved him deeply – and I admit that you're the first I've told this to – I hated that vulnerability it brought with it. A person, a man… a being, can not be fully… can not protect himself against the dangers if they have to think of someone else first. I feel that had I not been in that position and had Iolanda not used Spencer and Sam against me then I'd still have what he took, but then… you see it's a conundrum… if he never took them I wouldn't be here asking you your opinion on the matter and I'd know no difference. Do I want to comfort my mind and regain what Iolanda took from me and if I _do_ want that – and I'm still unsure – will I regret it.'

Rossi chewed on his food and took a swig of wine. Floyd could see that he was thinking and so began to eat some of the pasta and sauce Rossi had provided. 'Firstly I need to tell you that I think it is wrong to enable someone's delusions. If I hadn't already been confused over the matter of the bones you showed me then I'd dismiss this as some kind of schizophrenic episode. I'm sure that you've had a lot of people giving you opinions about what mental illness you have. I'd put you down as a paranoid psychopath, but that's not quite right… I don't know what boxes I'd tick with you and I don't know if I'd have to add some of my own. I'm leaning on the counter in my kitchen talking to a man who readily claims that someone shot him in the head. You then go on to claim that although you were buried and you were dead, that you managed somehow to dig yourself out of your resting place and go to get pulled apart by dogs… now I have to then try to give reason as to why you're here now. How are you breathing and living if I believe what you are telling me and your heart and liver are in a jar at Sheerwater. What is pumping your spirit through your body, Floyd?'

Now it was Floyd's turn to finish eating before he spoke. He wiped some stray splashes of tomato off his chin and smirked. 'I've got inside of me a temporary system. No… not temporary. I could keep it as it is you see? But I don't have to. It's like having a transplant I guess. But they have no memory of Spencer. They have no memory of Sam and though I was shitting angry that Sam was missing, I maybe was reacting to what my brain was telling me because really I don't think I give a shit. At least the energy keeping me alive doesn't give a shit. Where is he anyway?'

'Internal organs don't have memories. If that was so then people who have had transplants would have been able to tell us that. It's not so.'

'People who have transplants are not Angels and they take drugs to suppress rejection.'

'The rejection is medical not an ancient theory.'

'Wrong. You're so wrong. The blood now is cleaned. Filtered. It's as though the medics boil the spirit away… in the case of a transfusion, that would have to be done. That's logical. They _have_ to kill the impurities… the spirit of the donor. Now in the case of a whole organ… liver, heart… they have to medicate themselves or they will reject the organ. The organ cannot be purified you see.'

'I'm not a doctor, but that isn't how it works.'

Floyd pursed his lips and slapped his fork down. 'It's not how it works for you maybe, but it sure as hell is how it works for me! Why do you think Vampires drink blood! Why do you think _I_ drink blood and eat raw meat? It's to take in the spirit of the decedent and ensure that the spirit of that person is absorbed. That's what I'm to do. That's part of my job. It is surely to take in the spirit of that person, to own them, to make them part of you… in a way to create immortality for said decedent. Can you not see that it makes sense?'

'I can see that you're confusing your folk law. Vampires don't exist.'

'Surely not.' Floyd conceded. 'At least not in the way the stories say. No glittery pretty boys… it's not at all like that. I could myself be classed as a form of vampire if you wish. But I'm not going to melt in the sun and I'm not going to grow fangs… though Sam might. What I'm saying is that many a folk law resides in truth.'

Rossi pushed his empty bowl aside. 'OK, so pretend for now that you have convinced me. That somehow someone brought you back to life but without your own soul or spirit… you're alive. You're reasonably well. What do you need my opinion on this for?'

'Should I court Spencer? Should I take back what I've lost or should I assume that Spencer is the man I will love and therefore own… no… I didn't mean _own_ I mean… reside with, pamper… god it sounds sick. Should I take him on dates and buy him flowers? In my coat pocket there's a small package. I bought him a gift. Is this what a man does? Should I forget this shit, go get back what I lost and eat it and become what I was before, and will I like being what I had become?'

'Why are you asking me?' Rossi sounded amused.

'Because The Old Woman wont talk to me.'

Rossi pulled out a box with a jewellers stamp on the lid. He was just glad it was too big to be a ring box. He flipped it open and looked at the gold and diamond watch. It was lovely. It was probably hideously expensive and even more likely stolen. He sighed and replaced it. 'Who is this old woman?'

'A wise woman. A witch. A mother… a parent. She patrols purgatory.'

'Your mother?'

'In a sense yes… in a sense no. I don't really understand it myself. It's to do with the division of the Angels and the big boys. She's a go between. She's one of the ultimate immortals. She is a star in the sky and she is in the water you drink… she is Mother.' Floyd nodded. 'So will you assist me in my quest or give me advise on what route or path I should take?'

'I can only say that as you are alive and seemingly well, then the things donated to Sheerwater have been donated in error. I can maybe assist you on that matter. As for your love life, I'm not the man to ask. I've nothing against…'

'Fags…' Floyd helped.

'… I've nothing against your sexuality but I'm loath to encourage the relationship you had with Reid. Not because you are both men and not because I disapprove of it, but simply that you were destroying the man. It would be kinder, if you have any feeling for him at all, to walk away.'

'I have no feeling for him one way or the other. Except that I know I should.' Floyd topped up his glass of wine and chugged it back quickly. 'Thank you Dave. Thank you too for the food and wine. Lion King is showing in 3D. I thought I'd give it a whirl. Are my clothes dry?'

Rossi shook his head. 'Stay the night here if you wish. I've a spare room. Next time you want to visit though… call me first.' Dave put his hand to his ear to indicate a telephone. 'Though I'm not sure I've been much help to you. I don't understand where your ideas come from.'

They sat in the comfortable lounge and Dave tried to understand what it was Floyd was going on about, but most of it just sounded like paranoid delusions. Weirdly though Floyd didn't feel threatening. He showed Floyd to the spare room in the early hours of the morning. Rossi had drunk too much wine and eaten too much cheese, but listening to Flanders rambling on in his insane fashion, trying to get him to believe what he was saying had actually been an entertaining evening.

Floyd was frustrated. How many times did he have to explain this shit to Rossi? The man was intelligent! Why couldn't he grasp simple concepts like life force and death? He assumed that Rossi found that it was at odds with his own beliefs and was simply pushing this new information aside. Floyd didn't sleep. He lay on his back with his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. He had to decide. He had to know what to do. Would this terrible indecision just go away if he took back what was missing? Would everything just fall back into place and this damned struggle of not knowing what to do next be gone? He was still thinking the same thoughts, whirling around and around in his head when he heard the birds waking up outside and shortly after Rossi's footsteps going down the stairs. Floyd gave him long enough to have a piss and make coffee and then went to join him. Cereal was offered for food. Floyd turned it down in favour of toast… which he didn't eat. They drank coffee and Floyd lit up one of his foul smelling cheroots. Again the atmosphere was relaxed… at least until someone started hammering on the door.

Dave knew who it was.

o-o-o

Sam had spent his first night working for Charlie. It wasn't actually Charlie working there that evening though. There were two cooks, someone taking orders and two girls working the tables. It was hard work. He filled the dishwasher, scrubbed pans, wiped down all the surfaces, had to wipe them down again properly, took the clean crockery out front, bring the dirty stuff back again and fill the dishwasher. The cooks looked at Sam as though he was a bit of nasty dirt. The girls laughed behind their hands and the woman taking the orders shouted at him for being too slow. His back ached and his head was pounding. The only good thing was the break… he was offered a dinner and later on offered another snack. He was also told to help himself to coffee – which he did. It wasn't a job he wanted to do for long, but during his second break, Candy who was Charlie's sister offered Sam something to sniff up his nose. He was surprised. He didn't think it was a very wise thing to do, but his skin was already twitching and tingling with the thought of it… After that he dropped a tray of mugs, smashing them all. The cooks cheered him and laughed. Candy shouted at him for being a lame assed fuck up… but Sam thought that was the only mistake he'd made.

No one asked him for sex. No one slipped hands down the front of his pants. No one assumed he was a whore. And when his shift was over he was feeling pleased with himself. He signed a bit of paper Candy kept waving under his nose… 'We need to keep your times and shit.' She kept telling him, so he signed it and with a small amount of change in his pocket he called Dave… The call was unanswered and now Sam was pissed off with him. Dave should talk to him! He hated being ignored like this. He decided to get the early bus and go visit Dave and tell him to his face that he no longer needed him and he could piss off back to where he came from.

Though Sam really wished that Dave would apologise and hug him and tell him that his phone was out of order and all the rest of the stuff to make him feel better again. So there he was hammering on Dave's door. It was 7AM and he could see that the lights were on. Dave might even give him a lift home again afterwards. He lifted his hand to knock again, but the door opened and Dave was standing there with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. 'Sam.' He said as though surprised. 'I suppose you better come in.'

Sam marched through the door ready to retell his story and adventures but there was someone standing there frowning at him. 'Floyd?' Sam seemed to be asking. He walked around Rossi to Floyd and placed a hand on Floyd's chest. He then turned to Dave. 'Can I have a coffee? I've something important to tell you. I've got a job! Working as a washing up boy in a pie shop. I'm doing night shift and came right over here to tell you about it. I will be able to pay my own rent and stuff. It doesn't pay too well, but they feed me so I wont have to worry about food. I'll get paid at the end of the week. They're not all that friendly but I guess I just have to get used to them, but no sexual contact involved all night! That's good isn't it? I chose the right place. I had in mind to try out at one of the clubs, but I don't think they'd employ me at my age and the uni… well let me tell you about that… but…' He turned to look at Floyd again. 'That's not Floyd by the way. I don't know what shit he's been telling you but it's not Floyd. I would know. I'd be able to smell his soul and taste him… I'd be able to smell him and though some of those smells are OK and seem right… a lot is off… so who the hell are you?' Sam pointed a finger at Floyd.

'What in the name of fuck have you done to your hair?' Floyd replied. 'And it's me, just not with all my bits. I'm in search of guidance and direction.' He placed a hand over his heart.

'Bullshit. Who are you?'

So Floyd slowly and carefully explained to Sam what had happened. He told him about the dilemma…

'No fucking dilemma as far as I can see it? You're a fucking waste of space sometimes. Feeling sorry for yourself because you got hurt. Well I got hurt too! I've been getting hurt all my damned life! You know what to do! Go get what you need and fucking eat it! You can't be a half of a person. You fucking idiot.' Sam sipped on coffee and sat on a bar stool in the kitchen area. 'At least you've got a fucking soul. Why don't you go retrieve it? Why is it such a damned problem? If I can figure that much out then surely you can too. Tell him Dave. Tell him he's a motherfucking arsehole wanker for not doing something sooner. Geez… wow… I'm lost for words. You amaze me with your continual stupidity sometimes. Why are you here though? It's early morning and you've only got a bathrobe on… did you stay the night? Fucking hell! Again I'm lost for words. Nothing could have prepared me for this… well maybe seeing Dave buy lube might have, but fuck! I dunno why but this feels like one hell of a betrayal… what you looking at me like that for? I think I'm the only one thinking here! Get dressed you fucking arsewipe and stop messing around. Dave will get what you need and then you will eat it and get all down and loving with Spencer again… unless.' Sam took a breath. 'Unless you don't want him? I mean really? Could this be what you've needed so long? We can go on adventures and you can show me shit and how to live in the wild, wild forests because I only just survived and really I'm proud that I did… What? What? What have I said?'


	19. Chapter 19

19

Sam scrounged some cash off Dave. He'd thought originally that he'd get a lift home, but Floyd didn't look like he was going to get the hell out and Dave didn't tell him to and he didn't want to be in the same car as Floyd… not that is _was_ Floyd… at least not to Sam. It was a creature with Floyd's memories and wearing his skin and that's all it was. The essence of Floyd just wasn't there.

'How now!' Floyd exploded when Sam told him again to get his damned act together. 'It's not like I don't have options here.'

They were options that Sam wasn't ready to agree to if he'd even bothered to listen. He snatched the money from Dave and gave Floyd a narrow eyed look. 'Well it seems I really do have a life beyond having to trail behind what used to be you all the time. There is absolutely no lure or pull inside of me. Iolanda really did the job on you didn't he.' Sam shook his head in disbelief and prodded Floyd in the chest with his finger. 'You are letting him win… not just once, but over and over again. You're allowing that bastard to take control. What the fuck is wrong with you? You _want_ him to be crowing and swaggering around telling everyone how he won… how he continues to win. And! And I'm letting you know _now_ that I'm going to let Spencer know that you're not you.'

'I am me.' Floyd slapped Sam's hand out of the way.

Sam shook his head vigorously. 'No… Might be able to fool Spencer for a short while and you might be able to fool Dave, but you sure as hell can't fool me!' Fist which suddenly landed on the side of Sam's face knocked him sideways and onto the floor. He yelped in surprise and waited for the normal follow up battering but it didn't happen. 'Go on then!' Sam shouted. 'Show Dave what a big man you are! Hit the kid! Go on! Kick me! Knock my teeth out! Prove you're the bastard you claim to be.'

Floyd's eyes blinked at Sam and then looked at Dave who was readying himself to stop bloodshed in his kitchen diner. 'Just get up and leave.' Floyd growled at Sam. Go! Get the hell out of here, dog! Get your dirty hide away from here. You're not wanted. You were something created for entertainment.' He still didn't move forwards to strike again. Words could sometimes hit harder than a fist. 'Get your ugly emaciated hide out of this house.'

'You bastard!' Sam pushed up onto his feet. 'I _am_ wanted!'

'Who by? Dave ignores your calls. I certainly don't want you. Spencer doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself… and I happen to have the power in my hands to erase you from existence. As I brought you into this world, I can remove you. Don't forget that. You are not wanted. You're a joke. A spoilt brat and a waste of time and effort.'

Sam stuffed the money into his pocket but backed away towards the door. 'You ignore my calls?' Sam sounded disappointed and sad. 'Really? You did that after you said you'd help me get back into education? Why?'

'Because he knows you _are_ capable of killing the Greens. As we _all_ know.' Floyd raised an eyebrow at Sam. 'Go away. You stink.' Which was true but hardly fair considering the smell Floyd had been dragging behind him for so long.

Sam pulled the door open and pointed at Floyd. 'You'll live to regret this. Once you've done what you should have done right from the get go… when you finally see sense, then you're going to regret talking to me like that. Dave… I'll not bother you again. I thought we were mates. I thought…'

'Sam…' Dave started to say, but Sam slammed the door behind him and was crunching angrily down the driveway.

Dave turned now to look at Floyd. 'Was that necessary?'

'He has to know. There's no point in pandering to him. He's a fucking pathetic waste of time and effort. How many hours have I wasted trying to teach him to survive… Wasted…'

Dave now handed Floyd his clean and dry clothes. 'You should go too. I have things to do. You want me to try to arrange something with Sheerwater?'

'Great! Now you're throwing me out too? First Sam and then me?'

'I didn't throw Sam out.' Dave remarked as Floyd snatched the clothing from him.

'As good as. I didn't see you defend him… or was that just fear that you might end up with blood on your paintwork? Shit! The world is fucking crazy. I'll call you later about the stuff. Please… if you can't get it for me.'

Dave now handed Floyd his boots. 'I'll do what I can. In the meantime I do have other things to sort out too. I will assist you, but in my own time. I will fit you in around my life. You will not become the main focus of it.'

o-o-o

Sam didn't go straight home and he thought that he might regret it, but he was fired up now and wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. The cab dropped him off outside of Spencer's place and he stood there with his fingers hovering over the buttons wondering what sort of reception he'd get. He was going to tell Spencer to keep away from Floyd, not to let him in the apartment and not to take calls from him. And he could have picked up a phone and done it that way, but now Sam had a spiteful need to hurt Floyd. He let himself into Spencer's downstairs lobby and then used the elevator. Unlike Floyd, Sam felt happier knowing no one was going to jump out and push him. Whatever Floyd's paranoia of elevators was (mistrust of technology?) didn't bother Sam. The doors pinged and he now stood outside Spencer's apartment door. He went to run his fingers through his hair and cursed silently at the feel of his horrible short hair and then rapped loudly on Spencer's door.

Now Sam knew that Spencer would think it was Floyd. Who else would force their way by the pathetic security panel thing outside? He stood to the side so that if Spencer did look through the spy hole he'd not be able to see who it was. There was no problem though. The door swung open and Spencer stood there staring at Sam.

'My god.' Spencer muttered, grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him into the apartment. 'I thought you were dead.' Now suddenly Spencer's arms were wrapped around Sam and Sam had a horrible feeling that Spencer was crying on to the top of his head. 'I've never… I don't think, been so pleased to see someone.'

'Except Floyd.' Sam moaned and pushed away slightly. 'Have you seen him recently, because… you have… what do you think?'

Spencer stepped back and shook his head. 'You look exhausted. Let me get you a coffee and you go and sit down. What happened to your hair? Where have you been… and yes I've seen… I seen Floyd.'

'I have to say something and I don't want you making a fuss and saying I'm wrong because I've never felt more right about something I my life.' Sam spoke as he cuddled a mug of Spencer's boiled shit tasting coffee. 'You know that when Floyd makes a kill he usually removes the heart and liver?' Spencer nodded at Sam and gave a small shudder. 'What what that does is incapacitate the victim. They cannot be reborn if that's been done and their spirit wanders the plane of this existence for eternity and the soul decays and dies. That's why some ghosts and spirits are so wicked and scary. They have stopped being who they were. Now what's happened to Floyd is that Iolanda took his heart and liver and so he removed Floyd's soul and spirit. I have to say that I have no idea what it's like to have a soul because that's something I've never been gifted with. If you were like Floyd or Iolanda or such, then you'd be able to smell the difference, but… but, I've always been like that. It's like asking a person who was born blind what the colour purple looks like. You understand me? Well what's happened is Floyd has been sent back… either because of unfinished business or because he got on his knees and begged, but he is without his spirit and his soul. He has his mind and he knows that he loved you, but he doesn't love you anymore. He cares about himself only and I don't know what he was like when he first came back, but now fear that he's enjoying this new him. He has no ties, no bondings… no ability to love and zero conscience. He's starting over again and the new spirit in his blood is going to his brain and confusing him and blinding him and making him a bigger fuck up than he was.'

Spencer blew across the surface of his coffee and looked at Sam, trying to understand this and trying to understand it. He wasn't like Dave, he'd seen this other stuff and he knew it existed. 'He has been acting out of character.' Spencer finally said. 'You have a way to help him? To get his heart and liver back from Sheerwater?'

Sam gave a slow sad shake of his head. 'I was thinking more along the lines of taking his place. I can get his heart and liver and eat it. I can absorb Floyd into my own being.'

'And what will happen to Floyd if you do that?' Spencer sounded alarmed at the thought of Sam eating bits of Floyd.

'Well he will slowly be taken over by the parasite heart and liver he is hosting and will stop being him and become someone else. The memories will fade. He will forget about you. But on the upside I'll be here. You can screw me all you want day and night and I'll never complain. And at night when I'm curled up with you and the lights are out slowly, slowly I will become more like Floyd, but a much better version of him because I'll have my own mind, my own spirit, but also Floyd's spirit and finally I will own a soul and obviously I'm better looking and younger.'

Spencer thought that sounded horribly like Sam was considering murdering Floyd and although he'd been furious at him when he last saw him he wasn't ready to commit murder… 'Sam…' Spencer started.

Sam slammed his mug on the table, avoiding the coaster on purpose and jumped to his feet. 'Fine! I get it. I really do. You're as messed up as he is. You don't have to stay loyal to him, cos he's not Floyd anymore. Iolanda killed him. Whoever it is you saw and spoke to and got fucked by wasn't the same Floyd you fell in love with. He's dead! Don't you get that? I can become him though. I can fulfil your dreams and be the perfect partner.'

'I don't want you.' Spencer muttered and the reaction was sudden and explosive. The mug was kicked off the table, Sam pulled up a cushion off the couch and hurled it at Spencer and then burst into floods of tears. 'Sam… please don't.' Spencer also stood up. 'I didn't mean that I don't like you. I meant that I don't want you as a partner. It's not that I don't _like_ you… you… you're… you…' Another cushion bounced of Spencer's head. 'You're a kid.' He finished. 'You're too young. You're a child.'

Sam slipped his fingers under the edge of the coffee table and tipped it onto its side. Spencer's coffee poured over his rug and the coffee table book slopped down into it. Sam's rage carried on as he now started kicking the now expose underside of the table. 'You son of a raping bitch! You fucked me already! You've already had the pleasure of me! You can't now turn to me and say that I'm too young! That makes you the biggest two faced bastard ever! How can you say that! How can you! I don't get it. I don't understand anyone anymore.' He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes and calculated that Spencer would have his arms around him before he could count to ten.

He reached seven.

'Hey.' Spencer's breath whispered over Sam's ear. 'I didn't mean it like that. Sam… I'm sorry. I wasn't saying…'

'You said I was _too young_…'

'I know. I know what I said and partly… well… It's not you personally. Calm down and let me explain. I've always had someone looking out for me. Someone to look after me.'

Sam tried to wriggle out from the grasp Spencer had on him, but the grip got tighter. 'You want a protector?' Sam groaned at Spencer. 'Like Floyd ever protected you. He beat the shit out of you and abused you and hurt you.'

Sam was right. Sam knew the situation better than anyone. 'I know what he did. Maybe I'm just not ready.'

And it was bullshit. There was something else Spencer was keeping to himself. The arms slowly released Sam and Spencer righted the coffee table. 'Sit down a minute.' He gestured to the couch. 'I need to talk to you about things.'

He told Sam how worried he'd been. He told Sam that he thought he had been wonderfully brave to escape the way he had. He impressed upon Sam how worried he had been for him and how it had been impossible to find him. He told Sam that he had honestly thought that the vile weather conditions had taken him. He explained that he was going to go out when the snow had gone and look for him… though in reality maybe he wouldn't have… it was a moot point now that Sam was sitting on his couch. He told Sam how he grieved for Floyd and in a way still is grieving for him. He took out an envelope and tipped the remains of the gold watch onto the table and told Sam how he's thrown it back at Floyd. He told him all about the stinking cell… and then he told Sam about the phone call he'd received. A guy… a guy asking for Floyd…

'I explained that he didn't live here and said I'd pass a message on if I saw him… and he told me that he wanted to arrange a date with him and thank him for the breakfast… Floyd…' Spencer rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. 'Floyd went on a date, stayed the night… made the guy breakfast and then…'

'Oh.' Sam wiped the back of his hand over his nose. 'So do you consider that cheating?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I don't know _what_ to make of it. Floyd obviously wanted me to know or he'd not have given his latest squeeze my number, but Sam…'

'Oh my fucking god! You're going on a date with Floyd's fuck?' Sam jumped to his feet again. 'And so you don't want me. You've replaced me and Floyd and… wow… I never would have thought that of you.'

Spencer again bounced to his feet. 'Of course not! God… Sam… of course not. I'm sometimes daft but I'm not wishing to kill myself again yet… No I'm not going on a date with him. I put the phone down on him and told him not to call me again. But I've decided that I need to start going out, meeting people, having a life.'

Sam nodded and folded his arms across his chest. 'And that doesn't include me. I'll hold you back. I'm too young. Too ugly… too stupid and my hair is too short.'

Spencer again took Sam into his arms. Sam could feel the heat coming off Spencer's body and he could smell the want and greed and need coming off of Spencer but still he was being rejected. 'If you need anything, I mean… anything… you know where I am. Give me your number. Let me stay in contact. We'll go out and have drinks. You're not ugly or stupid and you know you're not.'

'Floyd said I was ugly and emaciated.' Sam cried onto Spencer's chest and now his arms were tight around Reid and he was letting the taller man feel the reciprocated heat.

'You're lovely. Now stop this. Do you have a place to stay? Do you want to stay here for a while until you get sorted?' A rich smell of roses and musk drifted over Spencer… it was game over before it had really started… and Sam was only slightly irritated that he'd had to cheat a bit to get what he wanted, but guilt and Sam never stay together for very long.

Sam moved his hands down and over Spencer in places no young man should start touching another man unless invited. It didn't stop Sam and Spencer's resistance seemed to be pretty damned low. He pulled Sam up off his feet and Sam wrapped his legs tightly around Spencer. 'Can I stay a while?' He moaned… 'Just a while… just…' As he spoke Spencer started to walk, carrying Sam with him.

Spencer kicked the bedroom door shut and dropped Sam onto the bed.

o-o-o

Spencer only had one excuse for what happened and why he did it. He'd never been in a loving gentle relationship. Sex… pain, violence… they all interconnected with him. He was unable to enjoy one without the other.

Yes he hurt Sam. Yes there was blood and squirming and yes, Spencer had to stop him from screaming and there were only a few ways that could be done. At least… in the heat of the moment, when the blood is high and your body is screaming out to you to defend and to cause pain and to receive pain…

He smacked Sam in the mouth with the bedside lamp. 'Shut up!' Were the words he used at Sam. 'You wanted this.'

Sam spat his blood at Spencer and kicked and tried to scratch, but as good as Floyd was at getting Spencer into the exact position he wanted… Spencer seemed to be able to do the same to Sam. Had he thought… had he been capable of rational thought, he might have noticed that Sam's struggles weren't really all that intense… he might have noted that Sam happily rolled over and presented Spencer with his prize – Spencer might have seen the slightly smug smile on the bloodied mouth… but Spencer missed all of those signs. At least he chose not to see them.

They lay next to each other sweaty and breathing hard. A hand crept over and touched Sam just below his navel. He yelped and jumped as his nerves which were still tingling fired adrenaline through him again. He came up in goose bumps and it made his eyes water and his nose run.

'I didn't mean to hurt you.' Spencer lied. And he hated himself for saying that… it was just what you said to someone after you had sex. It was like saying to someone that they loved them. It was like lighting up a smoke and relaxing… it was all part of the game.

'Yeah, yeah, you did. But that's OK.' Sam pushed Spencer's hand away from him. 'I'm going to put some coffee on and have a shower.' He prodded at his lip. 'You nearly knocked my fucking teeth out! How can I blow you if you mash my mouth?'

'_I'll _make coffee.' Spencer offered… 'Here.' He handed over a cigarette. 'Relax first.'

'You know you make dreadful coffee don't you? You let it stew or something. I don't know… but your coffee is mank… I'll make it. And thank you. I feel a lot better now.'

Sam stayed about an hour and then told Spencer that he had to get back home. He needed to sleep and he had work again that night. Spencer told Sam that he was welcome to stay, sleep… he'd give him a lift into work later and it was very tempting, but taking things too far and too fast. Not that taking things too fast ever bothered Sam in the past. He told Spencer that he didn't have a change of clothes and really he needed to go home and do that at least. 'I'll come round tomorrow after work.' He kissed Spencer on the lips and thought for a moment that Spencer was going to push him away again, but he didn't. A hand rested on the back of Sam's neck and another on the small of his back. Sam finally gave in and let Spencer take him home. He wanted Spence to see that he was staying in a horrible bedsit with a warden to keep and eye on him. He wanted Spencer to feel sorry for him and invite him right back home again and Sam said goodbye with a smile and a wave and Spencer went back to his car and then back to his place and Sam slumped into his room and curled up on his small one person bed and had a wet dream. He woke up with a yell on his lips and a need to use the bathroom.

o-o-o

Floyd stayed for lunch and then he stayed for dinner again. He was in no hurry to leave Dave's comfortable home and go back to the bins and the dirt. He needed time for Dave to get back what he needed. What he thought _maybe_ he needed.

'You don't much like me do you, Dave?' Floyd commented as Rossi cleaned up in the kitchen.

Dave stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Flanders and he shook his head. 'You actually fascinate me. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I don't _like_ what you do. I think you're overbearing, arrogant, abusive and lazy. But, yes… you still fascinate me and that's why I've not told you to leave yet. I've been making phone calls and I don't know that I can help.'

Floyd nodded and shrugged. 'Lazy? How so?'

Rossi held up the dirty plate he was holding. 'You need to at least bring your dirty crockery into the kitchen.' But he smiled. 'I see that you're not going to question the other complaints?'

'Hardly.' Floyd raised his hands in submission. 'You are likely right. This is maybe why I find companionship difficult. And this is something which is bothering me now. Spencer and Sam… they are all I have… or had. There is nothing else. I can't pursue them all the time my mind is in this turmoil and I can't decide what to do. I don't want them, but I need them. I don't desire them, but I want no other person to have them. Is that wrong?'

'It's greed.' Rossi pointed out. 'If you no longer want them as such, let them go.'

'Then what? What do I do?' Floyd put a frown on his face and snatched the waving plate out of Dave's hand. 'I'll have nothing and I swear that there is this ache… this deep dark ache inside of me. So, I can leave things as they are and gradually I will morph into someone else. I stop being me, or I can take back what I need and go back to how things were. But was I content with the way things were? I thought so, but now I'm doubting it. I'm no longer sure. But! But that might be the poisons running through my blood now. This alien spirit clouding my mind. Taking over. But! Maybe I'm wrong! How do I know?' He put the plate in the dishwasher and picked up a glass of wine. 'What would you do? Imagine, if you will, that your belief in your god had been shattered and another put in its place, yet you are unhappy, you are confused at the message you are getting from your new belief – maybe you can regain the proof that you were right in the first place – yet, maybe have been wrong all your life and this new god is the one you should be batting for? What do you do?'

'Nothing, I'd never be in that position to start with. I'd not let someone shatter my belief. Not even you, Flanders.'

'And I'd not even try. So what you're saying is that my belief has been ruptured and I need to repair it and repair it quickly before it's spoiled and gone rotten and not recoverable.'

Rossi refilled Floyd's glass. 'Maybe. But as I said, I can't get you back what you need.'

'Not a problem. I would have liked to have done this legally, but if not, then I'll just take it back. It's not impossible.

o-o-o

Sam arrived at work five minutes late. Nothing was said. Nothing. Not a word. Not even a 'hello' was uttered. He got looks though. He had a big bruise on the side of his face and his bottom lip was swollen and a scab had formed. He had a spring in his step though. Although his was a crappy job, it was still a job and he was getting paid. He worked like a slave for the first four hours and then was told he could have something to eat. He was ravenous and had a couple of burgers and some fries. Again he was offered something to snort and again he took what was offered.

It was after he'd had his hour break that Candy had words with him.

'You were late.' She snapped.

'I'm sorry. It wont happen again.'

'No it wont. You're fired. You will work out the week then you're gone. We can't have people who look like they've been in a fist fight working in or around the kitchen. You also claimed that you didn't do drugs, yet on two occasions now you've taken something. Yesterday during your second shift it looked like you could hardly see or stand… and tonight again. So work out the week then disappear.'

Sam's jaw dropped in surprise. 'But you offered me the stuff!' Sam exclaimed.

'Didn't mean you had to take it did it?' She prodded him hard in the chest. 'I'm deducting three hours from your time yesterday because we don't employ people who are too stoned to work and it looks like the same tonight too.'

Sam wanted to hit her. He wanted to take her face and boil it in one of the pots. The even witch! 'What did I ever do to you?' he hissed at her. 'Why are you being so mean?'

'Stoned, late in, argumentative. I've seen the dirty way you look at the girls who work the tables. I don't like you, Sam. I think you're a liar. So you work the week, get your wages and then get the hell out.'

Sam pulled off his apron and threw it on the floor. 'Just give me what you owe me and I'll leave now. You'll never see me again.'

'I owe you nothing. You actually owe me. And you owe Charlie.'

'No… I've worked one full night and I've worked half of this one. You owe me wages. How can I possibly owe you if I work for you?'

'Cocaine isn't cheap. Dinner yesterday, then another today – ten mugs of coffee so far, broken crockery… need I go on? You owe _me_ two hundred dollars… so you better start working your debt off boy. Now.'

'You bitch!' Sam howled at her. 'You fucking old bitch! You cunt!' Sam slapped the woman around the face and marched out of the kitchens and towards the door.

'We know where you live, boy. We'll come collecting.'

'Fuck you!' Sam showed her his middle finger and left the building. He couldn't believe it! The bastards!


	20. Chapter 20

20

Sam thought about reporting the bastards who had fleeced him to the cops, but knew that the police never listened to him or took him seriously. He thought of going to Rossi and telling him but didn't want him to know that the simple act of getting a job had resulted in such a major failure. He then thought he could go and discuss it with Spencer but didn't want Spencer to know he was such a waste of space. He walked home in sullen silence and actually got back to the main doors and through them without being mugged, stabbed, shot or raped. It as a small thing but it was a result of sorts. He was walking towards the stairs which took him up to the next floor when the warden swung open his door and asked Sam what he was doing out so late and asked if he should be at work and then asked with much curiosity if Sam was stoned.

With a slump of the shoulders Sam walked back to the guy and asked him if he could talk to him. 'Because I'm on the verge of killing myself and there's no one to talk to.' So he walked into Warren's small but nice apartment and sat with a hot chocolate drink in his hands and some toast with honey dribbled over the top. He told him everything that had happened apart from the cocaine. Warren said to Sam that he should report the people and told him not to go back there again.

'But I have to work of my debt. It's so unfair! I was doing everything right and they do this to me and now I've no money for food and no money for rent and I'm not likely to get any either, so I'm going to be back on the streets and my life is going to be right back where it was. I'd be better off with Iolanda.' He moaned.

'There, there now.' Warren yawned and stretched and smiled at Sam. 'Drink up then go to your rooms and have a sleep. Come back to me in the morning and we'll talk about this when I'm more awake. You'll not end up on the streets. I'll sort something.'

It was a very nice and kind thing to say. It comforted Sam's wounded ego and pride and there was only one way to thank someone for that. 'Do you want to fuck me?' Sam asked. Though the question was said with a slightly bored resignation.

'I've a girlfriend, Sam. And even if I liked what you have to offer I'd lose my job for taking advantage. I'm going to ignore the fact that I think you've been taking drugs. This is a clean and dry place. You know what that means? I know you do. We discussed this before. No drugs, Sam. That doesn't just mean when you're in the building. You can't stay here if you're going to get high or drunk.'

Sam drank up the hot chocolate and nodded. 'I took a snort of coke. They offered it to me. I took it. Then they said I had to pay for it. That's actually why the debt is so high. It wont happen again.'

'Not on my watch it wont. Good lad. Go and sleep and tomorrow we will see if there is something we can do. I'm not here to wipe your arse. Which was the point I tried to make before, but if there's a problem, then I'm here.'

'Understood and thank you. I think I need to go and sleep.'

He left feeling slightly confused. Another rejection. They were coming in thick and fast and the only person who had taken up his offer hand been Spencer and he'd gone loony toons and beaten him.

And that made Sam think again of Floyd and the matter of his missing bits… and Sam's theory that he could replace Floyd if he could get his hands on those items and eat them himself. He would maybe get the soul he was so desperate for and he'd devour Floyd's spirit. He would in actuality be more Floyd than Floyd was right now…

o-o-o

Again Floyd had spent the night as Rossi slept, tossing and turning in his bed, to lay and stare at the ceiling. When he'd first come back from his adventure with Iolanda he'd been full of fury and wrath. His head had been spinning out of control, but that dull empty place inside of him was what had driven him to gorge and puke and gorge and puke… it had been a method of filling that space and now that it was full he could pay more attention to what his head was screaming at him – or he could drive those screams away with a pit of practice.

Tonight he was thinking of Spencer. He was thinking of his face, his hands, his neck and shoulders… he thought of Spencer's back and the distinct lack of any bonding mark there… he thought of the back of Spencer's legs and the curve of his buttocks and he lay there with a frown on his face and wondered why he was thinking about Spencer when he had Emily he could be thinking about. Floyd got up, had a piss, walked to the kitchen and sat on a stool, in his underwear and brewed up a coffee. He was still sitting there hours later when Rossi joined him as the birds woke up and light drove across the floor as it crept through the gaps in the blinds at the kitchen windows.

'A problem?' Dave asked cautiously. He could see there was a problem. There was the pile of ash on his kitchen floor and the stubbed out dog ends on the counter. There was the mug of coffee and the spilt sugar. 'What's going on?' Rossi wished he had a small recording device he could turn on quickly and capture some of Floyd's musings.

Floyd nodded and then shook his head. 'I'm not sure.' He said, and lit a smoke from the one he then put out on Dave's kitchen counter. 'What is your view on homosexuality?'

Well it wasn't the question Dave had been expecting. At least not this time of the morning. He helped himself to a coffee and poured fruit juice out for them both, then he swept up the mess Floyd had made. 'In what respect?' He finally asked.

'Do you think someone is born gay?'

Another question Rossi wasn't expecting. He didn't plan on answering it yet though. 'Why? Is this about Spencer?'

Floyd drank his juice. 'Not as such. I truly believe that you are born with your brain wired a certain way. You will grow up to be fat, or lazy, or maybe love cats, have a hobby making boats in bottles… kill people, rob, murder… it's in here.' Floyd tapped his forehead. 'You can maybe hide your true nature but you cannot eradicate it. This is why we don't accept apologies and shouldn't give them either. If you do something it's because of your genetics or because of a failure in part of someone who should have seen what was going to happen. They should have seen your spirit flowing and ebbing and waning. I can. I can feel it. I can smell it. I can push out chemicals from my blood and let other's smell it too.'

'I'm not sure where this is leading.' Though Dave had a feeling that he was going to be trapped listening to Floyd trying to convince him that he might well be a son of a bitch, but its, not his fault.

'Spencer was born a fag.' Floyd watched Dave nod slowly. 'I wasn't. Actually I was created to have no sexual feelings or needs at all. It wasn't until my spirit matured and my soul was _adult_ that I was given my free will and I went on a raping, buggering rampage. This you know though… don't you? Anyway it was my free spirit which made me that way. It made me what I was.'

Rossi began to make pancakes but was listening to Floyd rattle on about his soul and his spirit and corruption of the mind from alien influences. He listened to Floyd tell him how he reaped souls in an attempt to gain favour and for a while Rossi stood and looked at the half naked man sitting in his kitchen telling him that some parasite spirit working its way through his blood might have (though Floyd purposefully didn't make this very clear) _might_ have turned Floyd straight. 'I intend to give Emily a call and test my theory.' He ended. 'I'll have pancakes first though. I might need my energy.'

Dave took the last pancake off the heat and slid it onto a plate. 'Can I give you some advice, as an older man… some fatherly advice if you will.' He waited for Floyd to look at him and show that he was listening. 'Leave Emily alone.'

'But she's so delightfully fuckable.' Floyd squirted syrup over his pancake and took the fork being offered. 'Don't you think so?'

Dave stepped towards Floyd now. Anger showing on his face. He wanted to pick up the other fork and stab Floyd in the eye with it and no one made him feel that way… except Floyd it seemed. 'My personal feelings towards Emily are not your business. What is it you have against us? You've destroyed Hotch… slowly, you did that slowly but eventually you took Jack from him and you can deny it and we might not be able to prove it as a truth, but I know it is. I know it was you. Then you take Morgan from us.'

'Hey now. Oho…' Floyd pointed his fork at Rossi. 'I was no where near him. I might not be able to prove innocence over the Jack fiasco but I sure as hell can prove it with Morgan. Don't assume. Never assume.'

Dave carried on ignoring Floyd. 'You've tried numerous times to drag Emily down… harm JJ…'

'Oh the _whore!_' Floyd was on his feet now… still waving the fork around. 'The blond slut! Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth. The Harlot. The dirty…' Floyd stopped when he actually looked at Dave and saw the expression on his face. 'I know what you're thinking. The whore of Babylon is talking of Rome, but of course we both know that's bullshit and only ever put in place because people wanted to bring down the church there and it might have been a good call, but of course it doesn't mean that at all. You _know_ it doesn't. The whore is the slut who rides in and puts herself in the place of the righteous ones. Then She dispels the truth and will be destroyed. I know I don't have the seven heads and I know… I am aware of that. I'm not the one to do that.'

'You're mad.' Rossi snarled at Floyd. 'You honestly think that JJ….?'

'I don't think it, Dave. I absolutely know it. I can see it written on her flesh. However many times I destroy the bitch, she will come again… and again and she will drag with her, her dripping diseased cunny… her vile fornications. Tell me! Tell me Dave, was that woman married before she had that worm growing in her gut? NO! Oh please don't further get me started on that Beast.'

Dave gently encouraged Floyd to sit down again. He asked him if he needed another smoke. He'd obviously trodden on very dangerous grounds there and he would come back to it another time. Alone here in his house and in his pyjama's didn't seem to be the right time. He wanted to change the subject so took it back to talking about Floyd rather than his delusions about other people. Dave wanted to know how Floyd could be dead and buried yet still be alive. 'Forget for a moment the spirit and the soul, I'm still trying to get my head around your thinking there, but just tell me how, if Iolanda's dogs tore you apart – and you'll not deny that they did… how you survived it.'

Floyd asked for another hot chocolate and more pancakes and then sat back down again. 'It's not possible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.'

'So now you want me to believe not only that JJ is The Whore of Babylon but that you are a prophet. Have you ever _been_ to Jerusalem?'

More pancakes were provided. More hot chocolate was made. Floyd ate the sticky food and sipped on the dark sweet drink. 'It's not as it seems.' He finally said. 'Jerusalem is a word used so that the plebs could understand a basic idea. You can surely see that? It's the reason that the good old not drinking of blood was used. Not so that we can't save lives but so that no one takes on the spirit of another. It's dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. It can corrupt you, make you ill. Turn you all twinkly… or turn you into a sad lonely Fucktard who wanders the earth feeling sorry for himself… more likely you'll just get sick and die. What was I saying? The prophet is an angel. At least that's what it meant. Jerusalem being the home of the angels. As Babylon didn't mean Rome… Jerusalem doesn't actually mean that place on the other side of the world.'

'You're making this up as you think of it.' Dave laughed. 'You're not a prophet so now you are an angel?'

'Which you looked surprised about but yet shouldn't as I've told you all about that in the past. Wake up Davie. I've explained. I cannot be killed here. The Big J is where I come from. Now… now you're going to close down on me and tell me that you don't believe in parallel universes and alternate realities.' Floyd nodded to himself. He knew it. Dave would never understand unless Floyd showed him and that would shatter the belief system Rossi had and Floyd had no intention of doing that. He licked his plate clean then wiped off the syrup he'd managed to get on his chin and chest. 'OK… OK! You want this simple. I'm Floyd's twin brother. I'm not Floyd I am… I'm… Emrys – It means immortal. Emrys Flanders… our genetic DNA would be the same as were grew from the same _egg_, but not an egg, but you get the drift. Does that satisfy you?'

Dave would have loved to have that satisfy him, but it didn't. 'I think I like your other reality better.' He gave Floyd a small smile. 'I have things I need to do today. Phone calls to make, bills to pay…'

'Boring shit.' Floyd told him. 'I'll go watch the television then.'

Dave had been rather hoping that Floyd would get dressed and leave, but he watched with mild annoyance as Floyd walked out of the kitchen, diner and into his lounge. Did he dare actually ask Floyd to leave? No, not yet. For now Floyd seemed reasonably stable and maybe that was because he'd placed himself in a stress free environment. There was a chance that Floyd would fully relax and gradually tell him who he really was, but for now it seemed the delusions were firmly in place. The man was ill and needed treatment, but how do you treat someone who genuinely thinks the way he does? How do you persuade them that they need help? Dave wasn't sure and he wasn't about to risk Floyd flying into a rage by suggesting it.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Sam started up the stairs then turned and went back down. He walked into the street and looked down at the bright neon signs and the night life. He wasn't up for fun tonight. Sam was on a mission. He had to do this and get what he needed. The thing was that he still wasn't completely sure what that thing was.

He walked. He didn't want to get a cab. There was no need. The place he needed to get to wasn't too far away and he also needed time to consider exactly what it was he was going to do. He walked past bars and dark doorways leading into clubs. There were burger bars, and street vendors. The place was rattling with nightlife and Sam ignored it all. When he saw the building he wanted he ignored it and kept walking on the other side of the street. The place was dark. Only security lights seemed to be blinking… a warning for people to keep away. The huge downstairs lobby was guarded by a man sitting behind a desk with a monitor in front of him. Sam could see this shadow, but took little actual notice of him. He stayed on the other side of the street until he came to a place he could cross safely. Cars moved on by. This wasn't a place to pick someone up. This was a nice area. It was full of nice people having normal fun. No whores and rent boys hiding in the alleyways. Sam moved down one of these mostly empty alleys. There was a man and a woman necking and maybe a bit of heavy petting going on, but he scurried away quickly. Sam wasn't there for that sort of fun. Actually Sam didn't think this was going to be in the slightest.

The good thing – as far as Sam could see – was that since the slow and obvious decline of Floyd, he'd picked up on some handy skills which were obviously going free and he was going to make the most of the situation before it all fell apart again and he was back to being just the street scum whore which he knew he was, and secretly craved.

Sam was jonesing his previous life. The thought of skulking around in the back streets and walking up to cars when the window slowly opened, it made Sam's stomach churn and turn, but he also wanted desperately to be loved and needed and wanted and though whoring gave him a little bit of that it didn't give him everything. He wanted to feel that Floyd cared about what he was doing. Actually what he wanted most of all was for Floyd to come back to him – well to him and Spencer he supposed and he thought that Floyd was just going to sit back with his thumb up his arse waiting for someone to sort it out for him.

There was also the idea that by consuming what Iolanda had ripped out of Floyd that he could consume the soul and spirit of Floyd. Then Spencer would love _him_ and not Floyd because essentially he would have become Floyd, at least in spirit _and_ for the icing on the cake he would at last have a soul. A second hand, very used and embittered one, but that really didn't matter.

The rear of the building had a high wire fence around it. Again there were flashing lights letting Sam know that there were cameras. There were notices printed in white on a red background PRIVATE – KEEP OUT and there were some again in white but on a blue background telling Sam that the place had CCTV. Sam ran a hand over the fence. He could climb it easily.

He stood with both hands clutching the criss-cross of the wires and one foot balanced at the bottom and he felt his heart quickening and stalling and going into a wild frenzy in his chest. He felt the sweat pop out on his top lip and on his brow. He moved a hand away and wiped at his dripping nose and then licked his lips. Keeping out of sight of something like him or something other worldly was not easy, but keeping out of sight technology was relatively simple. It was easier for Floyd. Floyd didn't even have to think about it. It just seemed to happen, but Sam had to concentrate and it hurt and made him feel too hot and it made his back ache and his feet hurt. He pulled away from the fence and kicked off his shoes. His toe nails were long and dark and almost looking like the start of talons. As he walked back to the fence he could hear them clicking on the concrete flooring. He shrugged off the jacket he had on and then pulled off his shirt. He left them with his shoes, back in the dark where hopefully no one would see them.

Sam cracked his knuckles and ran his hands over his head of cropped off hair and this time he ran for the fence, leapt, landed and was dropping down the other side in two swift movements. 'I can do this.' He muttered and rubbed at his temples with his fingers. Then his hands moved to the ridge of bone just above his eyes and he felt the beginning of lumps growing there. He moved his hands down to his ribs and there again – lumps pressing out of his ribs – four each side. 'Help me do this.' Sam hissed as he dropped to his hands and knees. Again he licked his lips and had someone seen they might have noted that the tip of Sam's tongue seemed to be split and they might have picked up on the fact that Sam could run that tongue over the tip of his nose.

There was a rear entrance to something which was probably the services. The door was at the top of a ramp and the flashing light over it showed Sam that it was alarmed. _Click, click_ he tapped the door with his nails and made a low hissing sound. The locks snapped back inside the door but it seemed to be chained on the inside. It didn't matter. The door pushed open a few inches and Sam slid his arm through the dark gap and after groping around for a few seconds found the lock. He let the chain drop and then pushed the door open a bit more. He didn't need much room. Sam seemed to almost shrink and flatten out as he slipped around the door which he closed silently behind himself.

He was in a corridor with rooms going off to the sides. It was lit up with red emergency lighting which reflected off Sam's solid dark eyes. He blinked and again on his hands and knees moved forwards quickly. The only sound he made was the occasional draw of air over his small but very sharp little teeth.

There had been a time when he couldn't control this and he thought that it had all been lost to him, but being out in the snow all that time had forced him to use talents which had lain dormant for nearly all of his life. He'd been forced to climb up into trees and spin a cocoon to keep the cold and wet off him long enough at least so that he could sleep.

And this was part of Sam's quandary. If he had a soul and became a _real_ boy he would lose this. Death would suddenly become death and he'd be vulnerable and mortal and that scared him. Living an empty existence scared him too – or rather annoyed him. Sam wanted what Sam wanted and Sam wanted a soul… and he'd been denied it and so he wanted it all the more. It was typical really. Throw as many tantrums as he wanted and he was always told that it wasn't possible.

Except maybe it was…

But maybe he didn't want one after all… But he was still going to get Floyd what he needed at least he could return Floyd's spirit to him if not his soul. That would make both of them happy and things could then get back to normal and Sam decided that was probably for the best because being in this sort of sub-human form hurt his joints and made his nose run… and even the red lighting hurt his eyes.

The important thing was though that he was Floyd's spawn and the same way Floyd could have felt the pull, so could Sam. It was there in the middle of his brain tugging and spiking, forcing him forwards and now up a flight of stairs. These were the emergency stairs and as he half slid and half crawled up them he noted the signs over the doors _FLOOR ONE – FIRE EXIT – KEEP DOORS CLOSED_. He kept moving upwards gathering speed which meant that when he took the corners on the landings that his feet and hands left the floor and seemed to grip the wall. His hair had started to grow making Sam shake his head and flick his hair out of his eyes. In the red lighting his skin appeared to have turned a deep dark reddish hue, though once out of this weird lighting he would appear slightly more obvious that his skin was darkening. Down his spine his flesh was almost black and spreading out over his ribs on his back and chest. His toe and fingernails were dark and dull and his knuckles were slowly but definitely turning from the usual white to a dark grey.

The seventh floor. Sam stopped his crawling run and sat back on his heels, wrapping his arms around his chest and rubbing at the lumps which were now very obviously raised. The lab he needed was beyond this door. He shuddered and felt a strong creeping ice cold feeling wrap over him. He knew what it meant and in a way it was good. They'd frozen what they had. At least it wasn't soaking in chemicals. Sam could defrost it slowly. He would take it home and keep it under his bed and lay there on the floor next to it and watch the ice fall away and his future become real. Before he reached that stage though, he had to get what he'd come for. As far as he could tell no alarms had gone off. The place was in silence apart from the continual thrum of machinery keeping some things cool, some things warm… it kept other things in light and yet more in darkness. He could hear a tap, tap, tap of something and a very distant bleeping sound, but nothing to worry him. He pushed down the bar on the fire door and slipped through on his belly.

The light in here was not the same as on the stairs. Out here the light was a normal white light, yet very dim. It was night time. It seemed strange to Sam that any lighting would be on at all, but he wasn't overly worried. He closed his eyes against what he saw as a glare of bright light and he moved fast, keeping to the edge of the corridor, moving past doors which clicked as he approached in anticipation of being asked to open. It was the fifth door that Sam stopped at and finally stood. He grinned a small and sharp toothed grin at the door, licked the snot off his nose and then placed his blotchy pale and dark hands on the control panel. It let out a small buzz and the door slid open. 'Beautiful.' Sam hissed and walked through into a room full of freezers. The door slid behind him and the lights in the room flickered and came on. Sam blinked and slid a third protective eyelid across his eye and filtered it out and into a deep red. 'Ah…' He walked to a freezer and put his hands on the lid. 'Lunch?' He asked it. Again it was locked so he moved his fingers over it and listened to the click. He pulled the lid open and looked in at containers with labels stuck on them. 'Come… come to me.' He put his hands in to the mist that was rising from the containers, but nothing moved. Floyd's _bits_ were sleeping. 'Sleeping beauty.' Sam giggled and began moving the containers around until he saw the one he wanted _FLANDERS F ONE_ it was printed on the blue plastic box clearly. Sam pulled it out and placed it on the work table next to him. He unclasped the box and had a look. 'Liver for one?' He enquired of himself and smirked. Really that was all that he personally needed, but he decided that whilst he was here he might as well get the heart too. That was in a box right at the side and near the bottom. It was as though it had been pushed there because it was of such small interest. Sam was sure that Floyd would have liked to think that his heart and liver were special and on display. Maybe stuffed and mounted… like everything Floyd likes. Sam took the heart out of the box and placed it with the liver. He put the empty box back and closed and locked the freezer.

Sam left as quickly as he'd arrived only now he was up right and carrying his prize. He was careful to lock doors behind him and once on the stairs again he dropped to his stomach and slid down them head first on his belly, pushing the box carefully in front of him. He thought that once the excitement of getting what he'd come for had died off a bit that his extra bumps and lumps would slide back into his body, but if anything they seemed to be getting bigger. His sides ached as his skin stretched over the protrusions and his forehead felt tight and uncomfortable as a couple of small but quite lovely horns pressed forwards out of his skull. He stopped for a moment on the fourth landing and rubbed his hands over them. They reminded him of the tiny nubs deer get when growing their first antlers. They were velvety and smooth and glorious. He grinned and drooled and then moved on downwards. He needed to get out of here before he made a mistake and set something off, but he also knew that in this form that nothing would see him unless he wanted it to… at least nothing technical. Maybe other things like him though.

Once at the door he'd entered by he placed the box outside, slipped the chain back into place and pulled the door almost closed then slipped his arm through and secured everything into place. All he had to do now was get back over the fence and then… well then he'd take his prize home.

Grasping the handle on the top of the box in one hand he leapt at the fence again and threw himself over the top then slid into the shadows where he'd left his clothes.

'Now home.' He muttered as he pulled his Tshirt back over his head and slipped his jacket back on. It felt tight and uncomfortable, but he didn't want to leave any of his clothes behind. The sneakers wouldn't fit back on over his feet for now, so he popped them in the ice box, picked it up and walked away.

Things felt slightly wrong. He knew that he was still looking at the world through his nictitating membrane was still across, giving the world a blood red appearance and as he filtered out the world carrying on around him, the world seemed to filter Sam out as well. It was dawn and there were more people around. The skulkers down the alleyways had gone and been replaced a stink of old used up sex and lust… He flared his nostrils at the smell and wiped some of the drool off his mouth onto the sleeve of his black jacket and then he moved out into the street.

Sam was used to being ignored, but he wasn't used to not being stared at. Now it felt as though he'd gone from being less than a person to being invisible. He tried it out by standing still as someone rushed towards him in his business suit. Sam even moved to get in his way, but the man just side stepped and kept on moving. He stood there for about ten minutes as people moved around him, never quite touching, never quite seeing him standing there with his hair now down to his shoulders and his eyes reflecting back life carrying on around him. He thought it would be a brilliant chance to go rob a jewellers, but he didn't want to risk losing his prize in the blue box. He also thought that he was going to go home and watch things slowly defrost under his bed. That had been the plan. That had been what he'd wanted to do, but that didn't seem to be what he was actually doing.

'Can you help me?' Something tugged on his leg. Sam looked down to see a thing laying there. Maybe once it had been a child, but it was really quite hard to tell.

'Er – Fuck off?' Sam hissed back at it.

'Can you help me cross the road?'

'No.' Sam kicked out at the dead thing grabbing at him. 'Go home.' But now he was kneeling down at the side of the road looking at this thing. 'You're dead.' He told it with tact and sympathy.

'I need to get to the other side of the street. Mom will be waiting for me.'

Sam reached out with one hand and ran his claws over the thing's face. 'Your mom?'

'She will wonder why I'm so long. Can you help me?'

'You're dead.' He told her again. But curiosity was keeping him there looking at this thing. It was like a squashed lump of something, but it didn't smell and it wasn't being consumed by rot. It looked like a fresh kill, though Sam could tell that it wasn't. He could smell the soul and spirit in the thing and it was slowly moving away from her like in an oily pool of water. 'What's your name?'

'Alison.' She moaned. 'Can you help me?'

'Na.' Sam patted her on the… on what he thought might have been her head. 'Looks like you got run down by a truck. But you'll move on soon enough. Don't try to stay here. I don't think your mom is waiting for you any more.'

She muttered something else to him but he moved away now and stepped back onto the kerb. It was unsettling. He wondered for a moment if he was trapped now in this other world and he'd never be seen by…

… he thought… _I'll never be seen by those who love me_…

… and then he remembered that no one did anyway. 'Fuck you!' He shouted at her and ran onwards with his box, but not in the direction of his apartment. He was moving faster and faster in the direction of Floyd. The box was pulling him. He was making him do it. He wanted to just stop and eat it still frozen, get it done before it was too late, but something was dragging him onwards with his claws clicking on the sidewalk and the people moving silently around him.

A weird and very uncomfortable feeling. In one respect Sam felt as though he was as he should be, but if this was how he was meant to be then his life was going to go from fucked up to fucked up beyond belief. He didn't want to be invisible… he didn't want only roadkill to be able to see him. He wanted what was in the blue box and even that seemed to have a mind of its own and wasn't letting him do what he wanted with it.

He was able to make a quick phone call on the way to where he was being dragged.

o-o-o

A sense of something bad was gradually closing in on Floyd. He watched the television until he thought that his head was going to explode and his eyes start to bleed and then he turned it off to go find Dave. He cared not a jot if Dave thought he was busy. Floyd needed to talk to him. He had so much he needed to still say to him. It was good! It felt so good to be able to get this all out in the open. He walked into the small office Dave had _locked_ himself into and stood at the open door staring at Dave who was finger brushing his hair and then rubbing at his beard. 'I feel as though I am being crushed on the inside.' Floyd announced when Dave looked at him. 'This is a sign that my spirit is taking over…'

He was going to say more but Dave stood up so fast that his chair toppled back and smacked onto the boards behind him. 'No.' Dave snapped at Floyd. 'Whatever story it is I'm not in the mood to hear it.'

'Oho.' Floyd said with a raised eyebrow. 'And I thought we were buddies. I thought that we could open up and talk to each other and I assumed thus that you'd want to know that there is a deep feeling of foreboding filling my senses.'

Dave walked around his desk and pointed at the telephone. 'Where did you go last night?'

Now it was Dave's turn to ask the unexpected. 'Why – I went to my room like a good boy.' Floyd used his best sarcastic tone.

'Where did you go! What did you do. How?'

Floyd walked right into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. He looked at the awards and certificates dressing Rossi's wall. For the most part they didn't interest him even slightly, but he feigned interest as a distraction from the boiling angry look on Dave's face. 'I went to my room… I lay there for a while and then got up and sat in the kitchen where you found me sitting once you got up. This is nice! Nice frame. Nice room. I might get my colouring book and join you in here. May I?'

'You left the house.' Dave told him.

'Maybe… maybe not. What does it matter? The only thing that matters right now is this feeling that something very shitty is going to happen and I'm not sure what that thing is.'

'Sheerwater.' Dave growled… yes _growled_ at Floyd. 'You went there last night.'

Floyd picked up a framed photo off the shelf and ran a finger over the image. 'Woman… who is this? An old squeeze? I didn't go there last night. I was sitting in contemplation in the kitchen last night… who _is_ this woman?'

Dave snatched it from Floyd's hands and replaced it on the shelf. 'Mind your own business.' He grabbed Floyd by the arm and directed him to the chair next to his desk. 'Sheerwater was broken into last night.'

'And so you assume it was me. It wasn't. Was anything taken?'

'You know it was.' Dave picked up his chair and sat down again.

'Wasn't me. And whoever it was I'm sure will be seen on security tapes, but how did someone get in anyway? Don't they have alarms and shit?'

'Nothing caught on camera, Floyd. Does that remind you of anyone we both know? Someone sitting in this room with me for example?'

Floyd sniffed in irritation. 'No. I was going to get things done legally. Why would I have been here talking my situation over with you if I planned on walking in and grabbing what I wanted. I know I could have done that. I am aware of that. It wasn't me. I can't prove it wasn't me. Except that I don't have what was apparently taken. The only other person I feel could have done that would be Iolanda. Which is going to be a problem. There have been others. Taki… good example of someone who would have done that just to irritate the fuck out of me, but he's gone… so that leaves Iolanda and therefore I'm going to have to go to your kitchen and start throwing crockery, because I'm a bit pissed off about that. However… I'm feeling something strange in my… in my being. It's as though something threatening is approaching. Something which is going to… maybe if I'm not using extraordinary care, going to hurt _me_. And by that I mean… _hurt_ me. Do you know what I mean? Do you have a cellar? This might sound as though I want to run away and hide, but I was just curious if there is somewhere secure I can erm – go to.'

Rossi thought of his expensive bottles of wine and the damage and costs and shook his head. 'This is bothering you more than I thought it would. Dare I say that you looked worried?'

'Worried.' Floyd echoed. 'Can I tell you a little story… it will put things into perspective I think. A long time ago, well a few years now, I was with my Spencer and we were in a car. He was moaning and getting lippy with me. Irritating me. Trying to mouth me. Becoming so that I had to silence him. I admit that I hit him. I smacked him under the jaw with my elbow and Spencer shut up. He went limp and… and I think that was the very first time that a direct action from me caused me to panic. I did panic, though I'm loath to admit such shit now. I can't fully get a grasp on why I felt _fear_ that I'd done harm to him that I might not be able to fix. I wasn't so… I wasn't as capable back then. I tried to wake him and couldn't. I honestly tried. I shook him, prodded him and maybe even slapped him a bit, but he wouldn't wake.' Floyd sighed and walked to the door, opening it and peering out into the hallway. 'I drove him to a hospital, even though it was putting my own self in mortal peril.'

'What a hero.' Rossi snapped.

'Think what you want! As I said, I don't fully understand that now myself. Why would I panic over such? Why should it matter to me that he might have died? It's not something which should happen. I'm not meant to feel an emotional tie to my dogs… my boys… to the mark… oh hell I don't know what to call it. See how confused this is making me? My mind is being swamped as though something has reached in there and removed everything I felt.' He walked right out into the passage and looked back at Dave who was still sitting. 'What happens when a psychopath who had control over his actions because of emotional attachment suddenly has nothing to stop him from doing the most… well… what's to stop me if I no longer give a shit? It's a worrying concept, don't you think? I've lost communication with The Old Woman. That is… it's like having your air supply cut off. It feels like I have a mask over my face but the tank is empty… what's going to happen?'

Well Dave had no idea what Floyd was babbling on about. But it seemed that the man was saying that he was suffering some kind of break down, or a psychotic break, but surely when that happens you don't know it's happened. You don't realise that what you're saying or doing is different… it wasn't a normal reaction. 'Maybe you need to sleep.' Dave suggested. Did he sound nervous? He thought that he did, but he didn't know if Floyd had noted the change in the pitch and tone of his voice. He walked out into the passageway and stood with Floyd looking down towards the door.

'There is someone there.' Floyd said. 'I can feel it pulling at me and I can feel myself being repelled by it. Something wants me.'

The sudden hammering on the door made Dave jump, but Floyd just tipped his head to the side as though he was listening to a voice in his head. 'It's not Iolanda.' He moved forwards.

The hammering continued.

'Don't let it in. It's demonic. It's diabolical.'

'And you're not?' Dave moved closer to the door. The hammering carried on echoing through the house.

'I'm pure. I'm angelic. I am the giver of life and I am… Dave… don't open the fucking door! It can't come in if you don't… oh fucking fuck. Why don't you listen to me?'

Sam stood there holding out the blue box. 'Trick or treat?' He asked.

Dave tried to understand what he was looking at. It sounded like Sam and it looked a bit like Sam, but that thing standing there was either in very good makeup or was as Floyd had said… Demonic.

'Can you see me?' Sam waved his free hand in front of Dave's face. 'People can't see me. This is so much _shit!_ I am going to get so fucking lonely and bored if I can only interact with road kill and shadows.'

'I can see you.' Dave muttered in a voice that sounded like his mouth was full of mud.

'I guess that's because you've had a close encounter of the Floydian Kind.' He pushed by Dave and grinned at Floyd. 'I got you something. And to be honest with you I was going to keep it for me, but I seem to be here and the contents of this blue box dragged me here. I think I'd probably just keel over and die if I tried to eat it. So yeah… happy birthday I guess.' He walked to Floyd who was still standing with his head cocked to one side. No willing waiting hands came up to take the box from Sam. There seemed to be no reaction at all.

'Sam?' Dave now managed to say. 'What's going on?'

Now Floyd spoke. He spat his words with venom that hurt Sam's feelings as much as a knife across is pretty throat would have hurt. 'I'll tell you what's going on. This thing… this creature from the pits of hell it self is trying to trick me. I'll not accept your gift you vile animal. Go back to the gutter. Crawl with your own filth. I don't want you. No one will want you now. I reject you as my spawn. Go to hell Sam.'

'Eat shit and die.' Sam replied. 'I did this for you!'

'No.' Floyd backed away from the box. 'You didn't. If you had thought then you'd know that what is in that box will kill me as easily as…'

'Bollocks!' Sam howled. 'I brought this here so you would stop whining on about what a sorry story your life is. You've let the other… that stuff inside of you… you've allowed it take over. Oh my fucking God! I don't believe you! Look at me! Look! Is that why I can't change back? You can't reject me! You can't tell me to go back! I'm yours!'

'Excuse me?' Dave said. 'Exactly what is going on?'

Sam turned to look at Dave as Floyd backed into the kitchen and stood behind one of the stools. He placed his hands over the low backrest and waited. He waited for Sam to get close enough.

'Hey.' Another voice from the doorway now and Spencer stood there wearing clothes that needed ironing and a face that needed a slap. 'Sam called me and said to meet here. What's going on?'

'Well fuck! Why can't you mind your own fucking business?' Floyd shouted at the gathering. 'I've been… I've… Go home Spencer. Just get the fuck out of here…' He glanced between Spencer and Sam and then back again. 'Oh I get it. I get what's going on here. What the fuck was I thinking? All this time I was facing my trials here and attempting to figure out what to do next and how it would effect you as my companions… all that time I was _suffering_ you were fucking Sam! You…'

'Suffering?' Sam asked. 'You think _you're_ suffering? I'm the one who had the brains to go find what you needed. I'm the one who actually did it without killing people in the process. I'm the one who's been thrown to the side and told you don't want me! I'm the one stuck looking like a Halloween costume! And you say you're suffering! You don't know the first…' The stool took off and as if it was connected to Sam's face with a bit of string impacted hard enough to knock him back off his feet. The box flew from his hand, opened on impact, and his sneakers and a couple of internal organs slipped to the hardwood floor.

'Suffering!' Floyd bellowed but didn't move from the spot he was standing. 'Feel that? That's pain, that's suffering. I give you permission to bawl like an angry child, you stupid dickwad! Look at you!'

Spencer looked at the things on the floor and then looked at Floyd. 'I'm not going to apologise for anything. You've been insufferable for a while now. What did you want or expect me to do? Did you want me to return to storage until you were ready for me again? Even though you'd been playing around? Yes I got a phone call… yes I know what you did. What did you think I was going to do? Hide under the bed and cry?'

'Well it would have been a start.' Floyd snapped back at him. 'I didn't expect you to go sticking your disgusting dick up Sam's backside.'

Spencer opened his mouth to shout something back, but Rossi was staring at him now and Sam was crawling over the floor dripping blood from his mouth. He looked at Sam, Floyd, Dave… then back to Floyd again. 'Can we talk without shouting.'

'NO!' Floyd howled back at him. 'Look at that!' He jabbed a finger in Sam's direction. 'The creature… the… you… you fucked _that_!'

Dave scooped up the things on the floor and put Sam's sneakers by the floor. It was to Sam he went and tried to give a form of comfort, but this still was making no sense at all. There seemed to be things pushing up from under Sam's skin as though his bones were growing lumps. His skin was a horrible grey colour and his eyes were almost glowing… and red… no white… or pupil… just red. It wasn't possible unless Sam had gone and gotten implants done and had contacts in. It was the only explanation, but why he would have done it, Dave didn't know.

Spencer approached Floyd slowly. No sudden moves. For a change it looked like it was Floyd who was caught in the headlights. He stood eyes wide and sweat dripping down the side of his face. 'Floyd.' Spencer put a hand out to him. 'We need to sort things out.'

'We don't.' Floyd told Spencer, but he took his hand and gripped it tightly. 'I don't need you, Spence. I don't need you. I can't need you. It makes me weak. It makes me sloppy and I make mistakes.'

Spencer moved closer now, squeezing on Floyd's hand. 'You've protected me most of my life. And yes I had fun with Sam, but that was just spite. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. It was stupid and it wont happen again.'

'It will. You will do it again. And I don't care. Go to him.' Floyd's fingers unwrapped from Spencer's but Reid kept holding tight.

'You _do_ care. You were shouting and angry at what I did. Why?'

'You fucked him.' Floyd growled at Spencer. 'You and Sam… you…'

'And that bothers you.' Spencer still kept a tight hold on Floyd's hand.

'Yes it bothers me! Of course it fucking bothers me! I love you!' Floyd jerked his hand in an attempt to get away, but it wasn't really much of an attempt. 'Fuck… I don't love you Spencer. I can't…'

'Because admitting that makes you vulnerable?' Spencer asked him.

'Babes, because if I admit that fully… if I let that happen, then I'll take back into me what Sam brought and I'll be violently ill for a while, but I'll go back to how I was and those feelings and those emotions… they got me killed and I'm not going to risk that again.'

Spencer turned slightly to look at Sam who was now sitting bawling like a child with his arms wrapped around his shins. 'He's your spawn, Floyd. You can't reject him. Look what's happening to him! You're killing him as well as yourself. He's reverting. He will fade away and die. You want to kill Sam? Because that's what's going to happen. He phoned me. He told me what was going on. It's fairly obvious, don't you think, that your rejection and now refusal to take back what is yours is killing Sam.'

Floyd ground his teeth and looked over to where Sam was sobbing. 'I don't want to hurt you.' Floyd muttered.

Spencer pulled Floyd around to look at him again. 'Listen to me. Listen… you are killing Sam. You will die too and you'll have solved nothing… nothing except for letting Iolanda get his own way. He's poisoned you. He's done that to Sam. Are you going to let him? Are you going to let him continue to have his own way here?'

There was a nod from Floyd and then he looked over to Dave. 'Have you got a food blender I can use?'

'What?' Images of Floyd feeding Spencer and Sam into his lovely blender went through his mind. 'What for?'

'I'll do what Sam and Spencer want. I'll take it back, but I'll drink it.'

'No.' Dave told Floyd. 'I certainly don't have a blender.'


	22. Chapter 22

22

They placed the bits they needed on the kitchen counters. Slowly they had started to defrost, but not enough to start eating them. Spencer asked if they could be defrosted in the microwave. Floyd glanced over at Sam who was still sitting on the floor sobbing and then back to Spencer. 'Of course.' Floyd virtually whispered into Spencer's ear. 'Get a dish and we'll do that.' He placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder and gave him a friendly pat.

And if Floyd thought that Sam couldn't hear then Floyd had lost more than just his heart and liver, he'd lost his mind as well. Sam looked up and blinked. The room had a reddish glow about it. He'd tried blinking back the red membrane but it seemed to be stuck like that, at least for now. Sam ran his fingers now over the side of his face and hooked his lanky dark hair behind his slightly pointed and quite brilliant ears. He licked at his nose managing to get a point of his tongue up each nostril and give his nose a good clean, but he was listening very carefully. Spencer had asked if the bits could be put in the microwave and though Sam had heard a pause, he'd also heard Floyd agree.

Of course that wouldn't work. Not only… well… no time to just sit and think about it. If Floyd destroyed these things then he'd be killing him too. And Sam though Sam loved and admired the real Floyd and though he was totally devoted to him, he wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see that Floyd was fucking with them again.

'The essence…' Sam started to say as he crawled and slithered his way over to the small group. '…will be destroyed by the machine. You have to eat it raw. You know you do. You have to let the ice melt naturally.'

Floyd's head spun around so fast that it looked like it had become detached from his neck. He stood glowering at Sam who seemed to now have a layer of slime forming on his skin. He'd stripped off down to just wearing his jeans and the marks and lumps on his skin were very obvious now. Sam seemed to be gradually mutating. 'Isaiah 11:8: _And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den_.' Floyd spat the words at Sam.

'What the fuck does that mean?' Sam hissed back. He was noticing that he was lisping slightly too. His tongue becoming too long to manipulate his words properly.

Floyd replied with anger. 'Isaiah 59:5_: They hatch cockatrice' eggs, and weave the spider's web: he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and that which is crushed breaketh out into a viper.'_

Sam's eyes widened in horror and even Spencer seemed to understand what Floyd was going on about. 'But… but no… NO!' Sam moved quickly to grab hold of Floyd, to bite, scratch… tear, but Spencer was there too and Spencer was now the guardian and he was smacking Sam on the hands which were trying to grab, he was smacking him hard with a wooden spoon. 'Stop it! Both of you calm down.'

Floyd carried on with his torments though… it was fun to see the look of panic and terror on the dog's face. 'Matthew 27:52-53: _And the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, And came out of the graves after his resurrection._'

'You are no saint and I'm only what you made me. You think you've suddenly become holy because you were dead and now you're not? Have you forgotten that it's not the good but the dark that makes you crawl from your grave? And you've forgotten that you're a son of a bitch motherfucking bastard shit who doesn't believe a word he's actually saying anyway!' Sam snatched at the annoying flapping spoon and tore it from Spencer's hands. 'Stop fucking slapping me! This is important.' A small pause as Sam threw the spoon over his shoulder. 'Mort-Dayhr 78943: _And the one you spawn is yours. If whatever created the spawn of the hellchild is devoured then the spawn will saieth the final cry of departure._'

That was something Spencer had never heard of… Dave was looking confused now too, but it didn't seem to have bothered Floyd.

'Boranchus 83: _Fight not the words of your master for he is your life._'

Sam snapped his teeth together. 'You just made that up! If you're going to quote something at least say some real shit. Barchester 7380: _Speak only the truth to the Dark… speak only with your head on backwards and your genitals promised to a servant when you tell a truth which is a lie._'

'My genitals?' Floyd looked at Spencer and then at Sam. 'Well they're likely promised to Spencer. Does that count?'

'My point is that you can't microwave it because you will destroy the spirit and if you do that you've killed me, left Spencer with no one to keep him safe from Iolanda and you've handed over to him everything you are and have been. Why do you want to do that?'

'So what you're saying is that I can't make a lovely Floyd liver pate. That's a disappointment which I'm sure Dave will feel. I know he loves my home made pate.' Floyd turned from Sam and walked to where his internals were sitting dripping and melting on the work surface. 'Spencer, Dave, go into the other room will you and play cards or something. Sam and I have something we need to do here and it's not really something which should be shared if you're not going to get involved…. And though I'd say readily and with an ache in my belly that I would love Spencer to be a part of this little ritual also, I feel that for now this needs to be me and my spawn. Come here Sam.'

Spencer nodded and was ready to give them both some room and privacy. He had an idea what Floyd was going to do here and yes… maybe he wanted to stay, maybe there was a part of him that wanted to watch… and he hesitated and was going to say… maybe…

'Babes, later. For now, no. Not now. Take Dave and…'

A hand took Spencer's elbow and Dave pulled him back out of the way. Dave wasn't so sure what they were going to do, but he was very sure that he didn't want to witness it. 'Come on.' Dave spoke as calmly as he could. 'Sam, make sure he does what's needed.'

o-o-o

Spencer and Dave shut themselves in the lounge. Spencer wasn't sure about how Dave was feeling but there seemed to be a big cloud of dark awkwardness drifting over Spencer. He knew what Sam had said, what Floyd had probably said. He knew that Dave would be imagining all sorts of things and yes, it made Spencer feel uncomfortable in the way that any person would if their sex life had been called disgusting and wrong by the man who your ex boss knew you'd been sleeping with. Awkward levels seemed to be rising. Spencer could feel the red hot flush which had crept up his neck to his face. It made his heart pound and the blood rush in his ears. Spencer stood next to the door not quite knowing what to say or where to sit.

'Sam will sort it. Whatever it is.' Dave told Spencer. 'Do you want a drink to calm the nerves?'

Spencer nodded but didn't move from his place next to the door. He felt that he needed to explain himself. 'I should say…'

Rossi cut him off with a shake of the head. 'You are going to go into a babble of trying to explain things and I think I've heard enough. I know that Floyd needs professional help and I know that Sam is…' He shrugged, '…Sam is… well he is a strange boy who also needs a lot of help. And that's all I need to know. I'm not interested in what goes on between the three of you in private.' A loud clatter and a yelp came from the kitchen followed by laughter from Sam.

'I… erm…' Spencer took a step forwards. 'I was… I think I was in awe of you.' Spencer told Dave. 'I know that I followed you around. I know that I wanted to ask you a million questions. It was like having a celebrity working there. I watched everything you watched and I wanted, I really wanted to impress you.' Spencer sighed and now walked to Rossi who was holding out a glass of whiskey. 'I drink too much. I smoke… I've taken drugs. I have unsafe sex. I pay for sex. I need you to know that – that – I feel that I've failed you. I've let personal things muddy our professional lives and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for that because now you know the real me and the real me is not very nice. But in a way maybe I'm glad that you finally know everything. Yes I had sex with Sam. Disgusting as that might be.'

'Did I ever, even once, give the impression that your sexuality was a problem? I knew from the moment I met you that you were hiding something from everyone. I even asked Hotch and he gave me vague answers referring to the drugs, but it wasn't that. It was about a month before I realised what you were hiding and really, in these times, is there a reason to hide your sexuality?'

Spencer drank back the drink in one gulp and passed the glass back to Dave. 'There is great reason to hide it. I thought of Morgan as a friend. I could see how the girls loved him. He teased me about my lack of relationships. I even talked to him about it and tried to hide behind faint pathetic excuses. I was sure that he would hate me if he knew but no… no… is the whole world hiding something from everyone? Are you?'

Dave smiled and shook his head. 'I'm a boring old man, Spencer. I am what you can see. No secrets… well not many and nothing weird going on. I've been married too many times. I'm going to age and die alone. Not a pretty thought. It is depressing and I do think sometimes that I have devoted my life to my job and I could maybe have pushed it aside – had a family – settled properly… if I have a vice, that's what it is. I'm selfish. Too selfish to want to share it. You _did_ impress me. You still do…' Rossi looked at the door. Yelps, cries, banging… 'Dare I ask?'

Spencer gave a small nod. 'It's a reclamation. Floyd will reclaim his spirit and soul and then he will reclaim Sam. Sam is his clone. They both need to go through the process. I just hope…'

'Reclaim Sam? Eat him?'

'No… he will have wild… violent… he will. Floyd will…' Spencer shrugged. '… Floyd will have sex with Sam.'

'In my kitchen.'

'In your kitchen… yes… And then I think I will have to go home with them.' Spencer bit down on his bottom lip. 'I don't disgust you?'

Rossi tore his eyes and mind away from the door and the kitchen and looked at the sweaty red faced Spencer. 'I am puzzled by what it is you see in Floyd that you can't find somewhere safer. You don't disgust me… I'm maybe worried about you.'

'He protected me when I was a child. He looked after me. He nurtured me I suppose. He mothered me when my mother wasn't around, and he was a father for me when he was gone… Floyd was the big brother… and friend and then he was my everything. I can't imagine my life without him. I've been grieving and mourning over his grave. The idea of what Iolanda did to him nearly killed me. I can't go through that again. I just can't.'

'Yet if you stay with him…'

'Which I will… I will. Time is running out for us, Dave. I'm here on special license. I don't want to waste that time grieving. I'm going to go into your kitchen when things go quiet or when I'm called and I'm going home with him. I know he's insane. I know that he's dangerous. But he is no more dangerous to me than I am to myself.'


	23. Chapter 23

23

As the sounds, yelps, cries and bellows continued beyond the door, in the kitchen, Rossi backed away to the large windows and doors which opened up onto his boring but neat garden. For a moment Rossi stood looking through the window at the spring and early summer plants pushing up through the dark earth and Spencer stood with his back to him, looking at the door, trying to look beyond the door. A fierce well of jealousy building up inside of him. Rossi could feel it. He could feel the charge of emotions building up in the room and to give Spencer room and space and to give himself the chance to get away from what sounded like two moose rutting in his kitchen he opened up the doors and stepped outside, cigar in hand.

'Reid.' He looked over his shoulder and gestured Spencer to join him. It was small reluctant steps Spencer took, but he did walk to the door leading out into the fresh air. 'I am going to assume that Floyd wont kill Sam.' Rossi said. 'We should leave them.'

Spencer pulled a pack of smokes out of his pocket and lit up. The hard expression didn't change. 'He might. It wouldn't be the first time.' Spencer didn't know if that was relief or spite that had said that. The welling heat inside of him was making him feel anger at what was going on when he knew, logically, that he should be feeling that things were going right at last. Right, but… He turned to walk back into Rossi's lounge but was stopped by the hand on his shoulder.

'You really think he will kill him?' Deep concern in Dave's voice pulled Spencer around to face him.

'No… actually no. You want to know what I really think?' Spencer shook his head. You don't want to know.' A small laugh. 'He wont kill him. He might hurt him and bleed him, but Floyd wont kill Sam. Not now. Not today.' Spencer marched out onto the lawn and paced around a circular flowerbed with a big green evergreen bush in the middle of it. 'But…' Spencer dragged on the cigarette, '… you see this is what happens. This! This… I really don't know how to express what it is, Dave. I don't know.'

Slowly Rossi walked over to where Spencer was digging his heel into the soft turf. He wanted to tell him to stop and moan about him ruining the lawn, but he managed not to. 'You want to check up on them? Make sure?'

The anger and the rage which suddenly exploded from Spencer shocked Dave. He'd never heard Spencer talk like this before. 'If I go in there… If I _dare_ go in there and see what is happening – Oh and I _know_ beyond all doubt what is happening – I know those _sounds_… I know what he's doing! I can _see_ it without having to look! And if I went in there it would be _me_ committing a murder. I'd be unable to restrain myself. I would have to stop it! That damned Sam! That monster! That _bastard_! That creature who can warp your thoughts and twist your feelings. He drains me. He takes me and he pushes and he drains me of all love and emotions and feelings! I don't want Floyd having him!' Spencer tugged at the green bush, pulling off a handful of leaves. 'Why would I want the man I love doing what he's doing to some demonic creature whose only needs in life is getting exactly what he's getting. There's nothing more to him.'

'Wait.' Rossi was a bit confused. Didn't Spencer admit to messing around with Sam? 'I thought you and Sam…'

'Oh yes… yes. Do you know what I did and you tell me if this sounds as though I was in control of what happened. I smacked that thing in the face with a table lamp! I beat it! And – and – and yes I took it, but that's not what I wanted! It was like… Oh dear god… you'd never understand! Because now I've had that…' Spencer stopped talking and walked away quickly with Rossi fast on his heels.

Dave wasn't sure at what point this _relationship_ he had with Spencer and Floyd had flipped and become something different, but different it surely was. It was Dave's own vice and his personal greed that wanted and needed to draw more out of Spencer. The fact that this was a highly qualified and intelligent man who he had worked alongside was irrelevant. What Rossi needed was every bit of information he could grab and he would grab that from anywhere and did he care if that process hurt people? Right now, out here in the garden it didn't even cross his mind that Spencer was in a turmoil of his own and had he known, Dave would have pushed that aside.

It was in Rossi's mind of vital importance that people like him gathered information about any situation and wrote it down. He knew that this was going to make an interesting book. He knew that he would spend weeks or months travelling to places and signing books. He knew that this would make money and though the money part of it was not the most important part of the process of gathering and recording it was certainly the prize at the end. That and the adulation of his fans.

Did he care that this was Spencer he was dragging information out of? No. Did he want every morsel he could get? Of course! This was what Dave did. This was his _thing_… and he didn't consider how it was going to effect Spencer if he kept on prying. Prying was the only way to get the man to open up and tell all.

'I want to understand. Help me to understand.' Rossi spoke as Spencer threw himself down onto wooden bench placed under a tree; a small brass plaque had the bench dedicated to the various dogs Dave had owned and lost. He sat next to Spencer and relit his cigar. 'Talk to me and believe me when I tell you that nothing you can say will shock me.'

Spencer gave him a hard sideways glance. 'I don't want to talk to you about my sex life.' He snapped.

Dave drew on the cigar sending out a yellowish coloured smoke. 'There has to be more to your relationship than sex. Talk to me about the rest. I need to understand.'

A shake of the head from Spencer and a single shouldered shrug. 'There _is_ nothing else. It's about power and control. It's about lust and greed and the need… that need to give and keep giving. Floyd demands absolute loyalty and he gets it. Really that's all there is to it. He takes. I provide. I enable him in his need to be the comforter and the provider and the healer. I provide the pain and I provide the possibilities for him. It is a relationship which can only occur if we both remember our places.'

Rossi nodded and blew out more smoke. 'He hits you. Is that something you want or something you put up with or he'll go elsewhere?'

A genuine laugh escaped from Spencer. 'There is the finest example of someone not understanding. Floyd will go elsewhere. Of course he will. The loyalty I have to him is as corrupt and messed up as his is to me. I would love to say that when I'm without Floyd that I stay at home and read my books and study for my degree. It's what everyone _thinks_ I do night after night. How many times have I been told that I should get out and socialise? How many times have I been informed of my social awkwardness? You don't see it. You don't see that I don't want physical contact with people because I don't want you to smell the filth coming off me. I don't want you to guess that the night before I paid someone to slap me around and hurt me so that I could get pleasure. I can socialise just fine when I'm within my comfort zone. Rarely am I in that place when I'm out for the evening with work colleagues. What if I'm in a bar and someone recognises me? What if that guy at the bar remembers that a week or so before we met up in a motel room? What if he comes over to me and asks me how I'm doing… I will get railed with questions about how I know him. I wouldn't be able to explain. And yes! Yes I know that the chances of something like that are so slim that I should be able to discount it, but I _have_ seen people in a cross environment. I _have_ seen past… past… one night stands and only by some great bit of luck has that person not come over to me. So you see that it's not social awkwardness as much as being dragged out of cover and laid bare for everyone to see. It's fear of being discovered. It's the fear that you'd see me not as the shy, awkward geek, but as the sexually perverted – freak.'

'And Floyd? You say that he's disloyal too. Doesn't he mind that you go… well that you mess around?'

Spencer threw away his dog end into the flower beds and lit up again. 'Of course he minds. Of course. Wouldn't anyone? I cheat on him. I do it knowing that he'll fly into a rage. I do it because I love to feel that. It's the control I have over him. It's twisted and it's maybe sick and perhaps I have something wrong with me, but he has so much control over me that it's the only thing I can do… can do to make him react in a manner I'm forcing him into. He comes home stinking of other men. I can smell it on his skin, on his breath… I can smell what he's done… and maybe once it bothered me, but now it doesn't because it is _me_ he comes home to. It is _me_ who he gives comfort to. It's me he would give his life for. Not Sam, not some whore he's given money to. Not to some kid he's just shagged behind the bins… but me. That's what I have in return and that's why I will _not_ accept this dull and empty emotionless Floyd. I don't trust that he'd…'

'… sacrifice himself for you?' Dave asked. 'Don't you think that's the wrong reason to be with someone?'

Spencer felt that hot rage flowing through him again. He knew that Dave wouldn't understand. He'd never been in the position to judge how Spencer was feeling. Of course he'd never even begin to understand. It was like a drug. A long term addiction which not only did he not _want_ to conquer but had no desire to need to. Ultimately this was Spencer's life and if he wanted to dedicate it and give that life to Floyd then he would. Spencer couldn't think or a more just cause. 'Have you ever felt so needy and so full of _love_ that you wanted to meld with that person and come one? Become the same person… join mentally, physically, emotionally… completely share every thought and feeling. To want to crawl under that person's skin and live there?'

Dave hadn't. 'No… I've felt love and lust of course. I understand that. I understand the need to protect and provide, but I feel that whatever it was I felt was of a lesser degree of whatever it is you're feeling.'

'Sam… Sam has that. Sam is part of Floyd. He has his own mind and body, but he can be what I'll never be able to be and that's being _part_ of Floyd.'

'And do you understand what is happening to him? Those… those…' Dave gestured towards the house. '…lumps under his skin?'

Spencer had a very good idea what that was. And there was no point in telling Dave that when they were all in hell that Sam suckled from a demon spider. There really was no point. He tried to tell him what he thought using more basic ideas. 'Sam is a lesser demon. He's not human.' And that was as far as he got. Dave stood up and walked away from Spencer without saying a word. There was only so much that Dave would listen to. Trying to sort out the psyche behind what Spencer was wanting and what Floyd was providing was one thing, but demons were not on Dave's list of things to understand or believe. He refused to listen to this fantasy any further. It wasn't to the house Dave walked but down towards the end of the garden where there was a small pond with large golden fish swimming around under the protective netting. He put his back to Spencer, not able to look at him and not put his hands on the man's shoulders and shake him… insist that he pulled himself together and came out of the dream world or nightmare he was hiding.

The voice behind him made him jump. 'You don't believe me do you?' Spencer sighed. 'What is it you want me to say? What will make you happy? How can I gain your approval?'

Now it was Dave who was angry. He turned to Spencer with a buzzing tingling feeling in his fingers. He'd not wanted to strike someone so much in his life. 'My approval?'

'I – I – I thought that… I knew… I just thought that because of what I said that…'

'Reid. I'm happy to listen and try to understand but all I've heard is the ramblings of someone who needs serious professional help. You want my approval for what? For something you have done, for what you are…'

'What? What I am? What does _that_ mean? I thought that you… I thought… is this a homophobic thing? You are disgusted with me?'

'Far from it. I'm disgusted with myself. I should have seen what was going on. I should have been able to pick it up easily. You are a nasty manipulating piece of work, hiding behind a pathetic veneer of innocence. Well we've cut through that now haven't we? Your sexuality doesn't interest me. Why would it? I'm not so shallow that something like that would bother me. It's _you_ that it bothers. It's _you_ who hides your true self from everyone. I doubt that even Floyd knows what you're thinking. Do you tell him that you mess around just to rile him? Does he know that you do things purposefully so he'll strike out at you? Does he know what a jealous, devious person you really are? I honestly don't think he knows. He thinks you're some bullied, pushed around pretty boy who he has total control over… you don't like that Sam is closer to him – genetically – you're furious that he's with Sam now and not with you.'

'I'm trying to survive!' Spencer shouted at him.

'By twisting things to make people feel sorry for you? Your delusions that your father murdered… your paranoia over your mother's illness. Your _social awkwardness_… Even the drug abuse… now Floyd… well time's up. I don't feel sorry for you. I don't give you my approval to harbour a criminal. I don't have to approve anything.'

'My father abused me!' Spencer raged at him. 'He did…. He… he touched… he…'

'No!' And it was Spencer who jumped this time at Dave's shout. 'He didn't. He didn't do it. You might like to think that he did. You might like to think that whoever it was who came into your room when you were sleeping and did things that no child should have to cope with… you might like to point your finger at your father, but look at it Spencer… think! You know it wasn't him! You know who it really was.'

Spencer launched a punch at Dave's face. Had this been the Spencer who Dave had worked with for those years then surely it wouldn't have landed… it would never have been thrown in the first place, but this was a Spencer who was being forced to look at and listen to things he never wanted to. He'd put masks over things he didn't want to face and painted pictures to make it all look real again. This Spencer was different. This one needed to protect those cloudy parts of his mind and he needed to protect them or die trying. Spencer split his knuckle of Dave's teeth and sent the man flailing backwards, ending up in a huge splash and a tangle of netting in his fish pond. Spencer should have put a hand out and apologised and he should have helped him out of the pond, but it felt as though Dave had torn away all of his carefully placed masks and his hiding places had been revealed. Spencer _did_ make sure that Dave wasn't going to drown, he rubbed his hand over his bleeding knuckle, turned and walked back towards the house.

There was still noise going on beyond the door, but now Spencer had had enough. He wasn't going to stand here like a fool any longer. He pulled open the door and walked through to the kitchen where it seemed Sam was laying backwards over Rossi's breakfast bar and Floyd was delivering unto him that which Spencer wanted either to be delivered unto him or to be the deliverer. 'Stop it!' Without thinking more on this, he grabbed Sam by the hair and pulled him backwards off the smart breakfast island and onto the floor where Sam fell with a squeak and a surprised and squelchy yelp.

'Hey.' Floyd looked up at Spencer and smiled. 'What's wrong? I ate my stuff and stuffed my Sam. All's good.'

'I can't do this anymore.' Spencer hissed at Floyd and kicked Sam out of the way. 'I want you. I need you so damned much. Why do I have to keep telling you how much I need you? I can't share. I've tried… and yes I'll accept that you need to go and see whores but I'll no… _ever_ accept what you're doing to Sam.'

'Oho! Hullo! Jealous little thing.'

'This…' Spencer stepped away from the groping insistent hands of Sam. 'This… this! This…'

'This what, Babes?'

'Just… it's… I'm not jealous. It's not that. You know it's not that. You can have him. I don't care, but… but… but… I want him too! I want to be part of this! I've loved you and needed you so long and you throw me aside because Sam is your spawn… and that… that… _pisses me off_!'

'Jealous cunt.' Sam hissed from where he was sitting. 'You nasty bastard. You fucked me and beat me and now you don't want Floyd to love me? Is that it? Is that the problem? He loves me and he fucks you…'

Spencer glanced at Sam and then looked at Floyd. 'Are you coming home with me or staying here?' He snapped at Floyd. 'Because I'm no longer going to sit back and be pushed around by a demonic brat. I want back what we used to have. I want to feel you lying in the bed next to me with your damned boots on! I want to distrust what I'm eating and have to keep buying up supplies of pain killers. I want… I want you to take me to dark bars and I don't want _SAM_ with us! Sure come home afterwards and we can have fun together but that's how it needs to be. It has to be…'

'Shut up.' Floyd raised a hand at Spencer and held it mid-air. 'You don't tell me what the fuck I'm going to do. You don't storm in here stinking of mistrust and jealousy and try to tell me what I'm going to do. That's not how the hell it works! Sam get dressed and sort yourself out. Spencer order a cab. We will go home. We will go home to our nice house with the nice porch…'

'No. I want to go to my apartment.'

'We will go home. We will go home to our cramped and stuffy apartment and we will bond. Are you up for that? A three way bonding of loyalty and trust.' Floyd spoke in a strange almost distant tone.

'Trust?' Spencer laughed. 'I have my car. I don't need to call a cab. I'm not going to sit here discussing our personal problems in front of Rossi.'

'Spencer.' Sam muttered from the floor, but Spencer ignored him. He'd had enough. He wasn't going to listen to excuses.

'I should at least wipe down his work surfaces first.' Floyd smirked at Spencer.

'Spencer!' Sam tugged on the leg of Spencer's cords.'

'Get off me!' Spencer moved away but the hand was insistent.

'Spencer!'

'What? What now?'

'That's still not Floyd. He threw his things in the trash as soon as you left the room. Just thought you should know. But having said that, being fucked by this fake Floyd was quite awesome. You should give it a go. I'll wait. Want me to distract Dave?'

Spencer stood there in the kitchen looking at the smirking Floyd and the creature from the black lagoon and wanted to scream. What he did do was go and check the trash, take out what Floyd had put in there and then he found a plastic bag to put everything in. Then he walked over to Floyd and put a hand on each of his shoulders. At some point during this time Dave had turned up, dripping and angry.

'You don't seem to understand the gravity of this situation.' Spencer spoke directly into Floyd's face. 'Why are you resisting this when you know that if you don't do what is needed that you will never be who you were again and Sam will be sent back to hell for eternity. Why are you willing to put everything you profess to love at risk? Why are you being so childish and stubborn? Don't make me shake some damned sense into you. I need Floyd. I need that Floyd that's hiding in there somewhere; that one who has some drive, some sort of push left… not this pathetic creature who is mulling over his life and his morals and trying to reason with it. When has what you've done ever bothered you? When has tearing someone limb from limb given you cause to think about your actions? You nearly killed me down in that hell hole; were you thinking then?'

'You can't rile me.' Floyd pulled Spencer's hands off his shoulders. 'I've had time to think and I've considered all the options here. I can set you free. You are like a beautiful butterfly who has been held in a jar for too long… it's time you were freed.'

'Bullshit.' Sam giggled. 'You're such a fucking liar. You're giving in. You're weak and pathetic and letting Iolanda win because you're tired and used up. You've nothing left and this might be a new start for you, but what about me?'

'I don't give a _shit_ about you!' Floyd moved slowly towards the bag of things, but Spencer moved faster and snatched them out of his reach. 'I don't give a fucking shit about any of you and I've come to realise that I like it like this.'

Now Dave spoke… and he wasn't a happy bunny. 'You said that you had loved Spencer and didn't want to risk dying because your attention was on him and not on yourself.' Floyd was told.

'Are you bastards ganging up on me? I'll not eat that… Sam can if he wants to risk it, but I don't want that vulnerable shit going on in my head again. I like not giving a flying fuck about anyone or anything.'

Again Dave spoke. 'You do care though. You obviously care a lot.'

'Stop! You stop fucking profiling my thoughts and words before I… before I… well I do to you want I did to…'

'Floyd!' Spencer stepped in again and stopped the flow of words. 'As things stand you are more vulnerable than you were before. Just come home and we can talk about this where Dave doesn't have to put up with our wailing and sulking. I don't want him to hear what is said. Some things should be kept private. He already knows far more than I would have liked him to know. Our friendship or whatever it was… our trust… that's gone. Now please can we go home and do what has to be done?'

Floyd nodded slowly… but he didn't look sure of this. 'I don't think that my mind is fully my own any more. Yes I'll go with you. Dave isn't invited… Sam… Sam…' He clicked his fingers and Sam scuttled over to him. 'Sam here… I will do it for Sam. Not for you Spencer, but for Sam only. Let's go.'

Sam snorted a smug gurgle and licked his nose. 'Guess what, Spencer… when I'm like this I'm much more supple.'

'I don't want to find out.' Spencer snapped back.

'Oh I didn't mean that I could spread my legs better or anything… I can actually suck my own dick. I'll show you later.'

'I can't wait.' Spencer sighed. And he looked at Sam and gave him a small smile. Imagery was a great thing…

'MarqueRose 676: _And the demon took his own seed in his mouth and his master was much pleased._ It is my understanding that this occasioned painted boys.' Floyd laughed. 'Isgar-Quenell 1: _Bring on the painted boys!_ _Let me lick them in all their wet glory.'_

o-o-o

Spencer drove. Floyd sat next to him and gripped hold of the seat. At least that hadn't changed. Sam was in the trunk. He had insisted. He said he wanted to be tied up too, but Spencer just slammed the lid on him and then dragged Floyd around.

Dave watched. He wanted to say something. Be angry. Be shocked… be something… anything but completely out of his depth and confused… and wet. 'I'll call you.' Dave called out.

Spencer glared at him and it didn't look as though Floyd had even heard or if he had he was taking no notice of him.

The drive back wasn't long, which was good because Floyd was acting odder and odder as they got closer. He sung a song for a while. It wasn't one Spencer recognised and it was horribly out of tune and a lot of the words were hummed rather than sung… he rocked back and forth in the car seat and fiddled continuously with the catch. Once parked, Floyd leapt out of the car like it was about to explode, or maybe, Spencer thought, Floyd thought _he_ was about to explode. Sam was thrown giggling and drooling over Floyd's shoulder with yelps of, 'Mine my horns you mother fucker,' which actually got a snort of a dirty laugh from Floyd.

'How I will miss them when you're dead.' Floyd merrily told Sam.

Spencer insisted that they took the elevator. He didn't want to pass neighbours with Floyd and Sam. They already complained and gave him dirty looks and he didn't want to give them something else to moan about. Floyd didn't seem to mind though. This Floyd was happy to go in the elevator. And Sam dripped slime on the floor like a little trail of something nasty as they made their way back. Spencer held onto the bag of goodies even though Floyd offered very kindly to carry them.

It was strange. Though Floyd obviously was going to object to what he was going to insist that he did, he didn't bitch or complain once. The apartment smelt strange and old even though he had been there not so long ago. It felt as though years had gone by since Sam had called him. And this gave Spencer a new thought. Once they were settled, or as settled as Spencer thought they were going to get, with Floyd laying on the couch, Sam hiding under the coffee table and Spencer on his chair with the bag of dripping organs on his lap, he asked Floyd a question.

'You… the you which used to be you… got me an extension.'

'That is so.' Floyd tipped his head back and grinned at Spencer. 'I can't bare the idea of the dreadful loss I will experience when you're gone from my life. The pain inside of me will surely be my demise.' He winked at Spencer and Sam groaned.

'But you're not you any more.'

'I am still me! But I get your point and you're right. When I've completed my transformation and become once again the pure being I was created to be, you will drop dead. But that's a small price to pay for my eternal happiness. You want me to be happy don't you?'

'And I want to be alive!' Spencer exclaimed. 'And wont you feel that dreadful loss?'

'Not in the slightest. Already the feelings I had for you are drifting, so even though, if it happened now… yes I'd be mighty upset but it's a residue feeling. Nothing real and certainly not something I can't recover from. It will be OK. Don't worry about me, Babes.'

Spencer held out the bag to Floyd. 'I'm not. I'm not actually worried about you as you are now. You're not the man I love.'

'And you're not the man _I_ love. So we are even.'

'That wasn't what I meant. I don't want to die. I want you as the man I love and who loves me. I want Sam back as he should be… and I wish he'd stop doing what he's doing right now. I said I didn't want to see that… my god! Sam! Stop that!' Spencer kicked out at Sam who uncurled slightly and blinked his red eyes at him. 'Please, Floyd. Don't let Iolanda kill me. Don't let him destroy Sam… he will take him as his… you know that. Sam will live in torment forever and you will…'

'Beg me. Get on your knees and beg me. Anything less and I'll not even consider it.' Floyd rested back his head again and closed his eyes. 'I'm waiting. Show me how much you want me. Persuade me. Whore for me. Fuck Sam… let me see you screw that thing and maybe I'll consider what you're asking me.'

Sam spoke up now. 'He's a bottom. He's a terrible top. You'd think that he'd be just as good both ways, but he doesn't seem to know what he's doing.'

'Tell me about it!' Floyd laughed. 'Why do you think it's always me giving then going out to get something?

Spencer stood. Held the bag over Floyd and emptied it onto him. 'Eat the damned stuff! It's lovely, raw and beautiful.'

'There was once a time…' Floyd said as he grasped the wet things off his chest and sat up, '… when I would have done anything for you. Absolutely anything. I would have died for you. I _have_ died for you and though that confuses me now and makes me wonder what the hell must have been going on in my head, I think I must have felt that way for a reason.' He lifted the things to his face and inhaled. 'Very well. For old time's sake I'll do what you want, but if this messes up I will blame you. I will come after you and I will hurt you so bad…'

'Good! Good! At last! Eat it!'


	24. Chapter 24

24

Floyd sat there cradling his heart and liver and he knew that he shouldn't eat it, but wasn't so sure now why that was. Sure he had memories of loving Spencer, or at least tolerating him, but surely that didn't mean that he had to put his whole life at risk now. He squished the heart and looked down at it again. Juices dripped between his fingers and they made his mouth water. The smell was unbelievable… a rich musky, bloody smell which seemed to be singing out to him… 'And the words which we sing…' Floyd started and then stopped. 'You know what? I think…'

'Eat it.' Spencer snapped. 'It's yours. It's part of you. Why are you so afraid?'

Afraid? Is that what this feeling was? 'It's not that I'm afeared of the outcome.' He put the heart on his lap and licked his fingers clean. 'I guess it's like Eve being offered the fruit from the forbidden tree.'

Spencer groaned. 'Hardly.'

'I will become a sinful man. I will become…'

'Just eat it.' Spencer began to get up off his chair. 'As much as I hate to say this, but believe me when I tell you… and Sam will help me… if you don't _eat_ that heart, I will insert it whole somewhere else.'

Floyd raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam. 'You'd help Spence fist me?' He asked the drippy hardly Sam looking thing under the table.

'For sure. Absolutely. I'm hoping that you'll refuse to eat it and I'll have an excuse to shove my hand up your arse.'

'Well damn… I don't know what to do now. You see though fear isn't what is holding me back, the pleasure of this becoming less of a picnic and more of a wild sex session….'

'Just eat the damned thing!' Spencer jumped to his feet and Floyd followed. The liver he threw onto the table the heart dropped to the floor.

'If you didn't keep on bugging me on it I'd do it, but you're making it seem like it's going to be the end of the fucking world if I decide that I no longer need you. Let me think!'

There had been plenty of time to think about it and as Spencer and Floyd went into yet another round of arguing, there right under Sam's nose was maybe the answer to all of his own personal problems and grievances. Floyd's heart lay there wet and shiny and Sam placed his hand carefully over it and pulled it under the table with him. There was a temptation just to stuff it down his throat and swallow it whole, but for now he hugged it tight to his chest, curled up and began to lick it, nibbling slightly at the places it had been damaged. Just this – just taking in some of the beautiful juice made Sam's own heart swell with delight. He felt how it made his tongue tingle and his lips go funny and numb. He could feel already the simple yet glorious wonder of having Floyd's real life in his hands and on his lips… and those tiny, tiny morsels of muscle tasted like nothing he'd ever tasted before. The ambrosial thrill which filled Sam's senses just from nipping and licking this gift which had been dropped in front of him were indescribable. He lost all awareness of things going on around him. All he knew was that he'd been the one to collect this lovely thing from the lab, and therefore it was now his.

Sam could feel Floyd's heart beating in his hands. He could hear it whispering at him… 'Take me… I'm yours. I'm the prize. I will fulfil your wildest dreams…' And it throbbed in time with the thing between his legs which was aching and hot and full of blood, waiting dripping and needy…

'What the fuck?' And it was gone! It was snatched from his hands by the demon Flanders. 'Tell me you didn't rub this over your dick.' Floyd seemed amused more than angry though… amused?

'What's so fucking funny! It's mine. I got it. I found it.'

Floyd hunkered down in front of Sam and opened his mouth. Sam's prize was stuffed into Floyd's mouth whole… He could see Floyd's throat bulge and he could see the way Floyd stretched neck as he tipped his head back and let the heart slide down his throat and into his chest where it stayed and stuck like a really bad case of indigestion… or maybe a mild heart attack. 'Mine.' Floyd managed to say before he placed his hands over his chest and started coughing and wheezing. Spencer was now at his side with an arm around his shoulders. At last Floyd had taken the first step. He just hoped he'd not left it too late.

Sam slid back away from Floyd and stood up the other side of the table. He seemed to need to lean on it to stay almost upright and as Spencer looked up at Sam he thought that had he not known better that he would have assumed that Sam had really good horror makeup on. Spencer patted Floyd on the back now… Floyd who was gagging and choking and spitting lumps out onto the table… And Spencer slapped Sam's hand away from the quivering almost alive liver that was shuddering there waiting its turn.

'It's not fucking fair!' Sam cried out. 'I demand compensation for looking like a moron because you couldn't get your act together quickly enough.'

'Fuck you.' Floyd gagged back at him. 'It's fucking killing me. Spencer either get off me or thump… but that fucking patting is making me feel like your pet donkey. And I chose that word carefully.'

'Can you manage the rest?' Spencer prodded the liver which rippled and seemed to gurgle and move of its own accord towards Floyd.

'Guh.' Floyd told him.

'What about me?' Sam insisted and started to drag himself over the table towards Spencer and Floyd. 'I want some! I want some of it and you haveta give me some! I've tasted it and now I want more.'

Floyd grimaced and tried to smile as he took the liver in his hands and held it to his lips. 'All the boys say that to me.' Floyd muttered and the thing crawled of its own accord into Floyd's mouth and again he tipped his head back and his neck heaved and swelled as the liver made its way back home. Though it was Floyd who went blue around the lips and whose eyes were watering… though it was Floyd clawing at his throat and saying something like… 'I'm dying… oh fuck… oh fuck… it's killing me…' It was Sam who threw up like a volcano which erupted from his stomach and fired the contents over the table, on the floor, on the couch, across Floyd… up Spencer's leg… and then it carried on until it reached the wall where little worms crawled away into the wall hopefully never to be seen again. And though it was Floyd on his hands and knees drooling and telling the world that Sam had murdered him… it was Sam who Spencer grabbed under the arms and removed from the room. He dragged him kicking and howling, puking, snotting and making his own declarations of atrocities till Spencer hurled him through the bathroom door and told him to have a damned shower.

Spencer then went back to Floyd and sat on a dry bit of couch and just waited. There was no point in trying to talk to him as he writhed and bucked and wriggled on the floor. The rattling and howling from Sam and the squirming from Floyd was making Spencer feel a bit left out.

Again…

Again he was feeling like the outsider. Again he was feeling as though Sam was closer to Floyd than he was. Again Spencer was wishing that this could all end and he could go to the happy hunting ground with his lovely Floyd and leave Sam behind, or just bump into him occasionally. He leaned forwards and touched Floyd on the chin. 'Can I get you anything?' Floyd had been silent and still for a few moments and now he opened his eyes and looked at Spencer. 'Well this is fun. I'm all of a tingle from head to toe… and I think this might just work, but I'm warning you now, that, well… I still think I'd sooner fuck Emily than you. Sorry Babes.'

Spencer moved back away from Floyd. He was doing this on purpose he knew it. He was trying to wind him up and be hateful and hurtful and as he was slightly incapacitated this was the only way he could do it. 'I'll call her. Tell her to get her self around here shall I?'

'Do… please do. I'm sure she'd appreciate the invite. We could have a foursome. Yippy yee… go make me some hot chocolate will you? Lots of sugar and milk… don't hold back on the cocoa either.'

'Why do you do this?' Spencer asked as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

'Why are you such a sulky bitch?' Floyd replied. 'I've done what you asked. It's going to take while to work. Please, make me that drink. And then if you could possibly check up on Sam for me. Though I despise the dog, I do have feelings, as a master would over his pet rat.'

Spencer nodded and went to make Floyd his damned drink. And yes, Spencer noted that Floyd didn't ask for coffee, so did that really mean that all this time he'd been drinking the brew on sufferance or was this just another part of the same game?

o-o-o

Floyd lay on his back and closed his eyes. The pain was delightful in a way. It made him feel more real than he had felt for a long time. The feeling that his internal organs were battling for position was a strangeness which he couldn't really put into thought, let alone words and he really did wonder if the constant nagging from Spencer and Sam was going to finish him off. Somewhere he could hear Sam's howls and he could hear the odd double beating of life tearing into life in his chest. Whatever it was his liver was doing there he didn't really take too much interest in, it was the pain in his chest which was taking up all of his attention.

He tried thinking back to how things used to be and all he had there was a quagmire of emotions which were so muddled and so bogged down with confusion. Somewhere was an itch of undeniable love and devotion to Spencer, but it seemed to be coated in annoyance and spite and maybe even a touch of danger. Sam was there too, stuck here in his memories and Sam was nothing but a thing to entertain himself with… really there was nothing else left there at all.

Floyd wondered if this situation of not remembering should be worrying him, but he considered it all as things popped and cracked and exploded in his chest. He belched a long and vile stink from inside which also seemed to have a life of its own… it really felt as though another creature which had been living inside of him had just torn its way out and in a greenish smog was escaping – hopefully never to be seen again. It eased the pain in his chest, but now that was gone he was only too aware of the pains elsewhere. In his head… and mostly in his gut… and between his legs where it felt like someone had been hitting him repeatedly with a sledge hammer. Maybe they had. Maybe Spencer had forced him to do this so that he could brutally attack him and gain mastery over him. Maybe this was all part of Iolanda's plan. Perhaps Spencer was in on it – with that _bastard_ who had set all of this in motion. Floyd pulled his knees up to his stomach and put his hands either side of his head and if he hadn't been in the company of the man who had probably finally killed him forever and for good he might have let out a whimper of dismay.

'Floyd?'

Ah… the murderer comes to watch his prey succumb to the brutal attack which had taken place. He might have looked at Spencer and shown him his temper if it didn't feel as though his eyeballs would explode if he opened them. He might have shown Spencer a finger or two if he dared take his hands away from his oh so fragile head. He might have screamed abuse at him if he wanted Spencer to know how much pain he was in and how he had been fooled enough to do what Spencer had told – asked – him to do. He didn't look at him or gesture at him or talk to him. He clamped his jaw tight and kept the words to himself. He'd _never_ let Spencer know that he was winning. He'd never let the bastard have the satisfaction of knowing how much pain this was causing. He can watch him die – there was nothing he could do about that, but he'd be damned if he'd admit to anything else.

'I have your drink.'

Which no doubt he had ruined and the thought of drinking something Spencer though was drinkable was something which could be laughed at at a later date. The murdering whore-dog wasn't going to force him to die with the taste of shit in his mouth.

'Is there anything I can do?'

'You – can – tell – me – why?' Floyd managed to say, trying to keep the deep hate out of his voice.

He could feel that Spencer had knelt on the floor next to him and he wanted to lash out and scratch the fucker's face off, but again he dared now move his hands… not just yet. 'Why what?' The fool asked.

'Murdering – shit.'

Obviously the words went straight over Spencer's head, or he ignored them because he didn't have the guts or temerity to admit what vile deed he had done. 'Let me help you to the bed.' The assassin said with honey coated vileness.

'Touch me and I will eat you from the balls up.' Floyd finally opened his eyes and spat the words at him.

But Spencer kept on with his obsequious, fawning and wouldn't leave. 'Please, I want to help you. I can see you're in pain and I can't imagine what you're going through, but please I want to help you. I can't bear seeing you like this.'

The monster was crying! Floyd saw the wetness dripping from his face and unlike Sam who could do this act at will, Spencer's tears were always genuine. 'Go and cry over your other victim. Go and check to see if you've let Sam die. Go and gloat somewhere else.'

He saw the shock of the revelation on Spencer's face. Of course the fool didn't realise that he'd be caught out so easily. He didn't think that in the state he was in that he would know that Spencer had done… but he knew and now Spencer knew.

The look of horror didn't pass. Spencer's eyes were wide with shock and maybe a touch of fear that death hadn't yet arrived and maybe, just maybe it wasn't going to. 'Floyd, please. I've not done this to you. It's just the… it's what… it's you becoming yourself again.' Concern? Concern that his victim was able to think and talk.

'You forced this on me, knowing full well that it would likely kill me. Well you've got your wish. Go sod off and see if you've managed to kill Sam too. Get away from me. Leave me. I don't want your face to be the last thing I see.' It seemed strange that although he was dying and dreadful death that he was able to see better now and the pains in his chest and stomach and balls seemed to have dissipated slightly. He seemed more able to think clearly too. 'Can't you just leave me alone?' He hissed at Spencer.

Spencer moved slightly away. He sat back on his heels and then put a hand out and touched the side of Floyd's face and though Floyd flinched away from the touch the hand remained there. 'You're not going to die, Floyd. I wont let you.'

'Keep me in eternal pain? Do what I tell you and see to Sam!' A command which was instantly obeyed.

The killer removed his hand and nodded. 'I'll see if Sam is alright and then I'll come back to check on you. Call if you need me.'

'Need you to stamp on my throat and put me out of my misery?'

'You know that the Floyd who has been around for a while now has not been the nicest person, but this display of self pity isn't going to make me abandon you. I love you. This isn't your fault.'

'Of course it's not, Babes. It's your fucking fault. You allowed Iolanda to take you. You made me come to get you even though Sam had escaped and obviously you could have also. You then forced my hand and made me take back… you made me… take back what was missing.'

Spencer didn't reply. Floyd was being unreasonable and bitchy. Bitchy Floyd was something Spencer knew very well and it was nice to have that part of him back again. He just hoped that the loving and nice part of Floyd came back soon too, because stamping down on his throat might not be such a wild idea if this carried on. He stepped away from Floyd and gestured at the table where he'd put the drink, but didn't bother letting him know. There'd be more accusations and bitching and Sam's howling was quietening down and Spencer _did_ need to go and see if he was alright.

o-o-o

Sam showered… and it hurt. It hurt like he was washing in acid. He could feel his skin burning, bubbling and cracking… bits slid off and blocked the drain and water was going everywhere. His brain was on fire… his tongue had become lumpy and fat and his eyes finally were seeing without the coating of red. He sat down on the bathroom floor and started to peel away the blackened skin and see the sore, tender, new pink skin under it. He listened to Floyd's shouts and then the muttering, which he could hear but not make out the words and now here was Spencer kneeling in front of him looking like he was looking at a horror movie.

'Dear god.' Spencer moaned. 'Don't pick… I'll get ointment.'

'I just want a hug.'

'I'll get ointment. It's here in the bathroom. I wont leave you, but don't pick. You're making your skin… your… it's bleeding.'

'I just want a hug and I'm a monster and no one will ever hug me again.' Sam whipped a hand out and wrapped it around Spencer's ankle. 'Is Floyd dead?'

Spencer couldn't reach the cabinet with Sam holding him in place, but there was a towel (fluffy – white) which he grabbed and wrapped over Sam's shoulders. He then sat on the floor and pulled Sam onto his lap. 'Everything is going to be fine.' He hoped. 'Floyd is pretty sick, but I thought he would be. You are going to be fine too.' He hugged Sam tightly and kissed the top of his wet hair… 'Are you in pain?'

'Oh I've alight.' Sam told him… and that's how it felt… 'Can I tell you a story?'

It seemed an odd time for Sam to want to tell a story, but if that's what he wanted to do then he could… 'Go for it. I'm listening.'

'I once… you have to understand that this really happened and it was when Albion was around… Well I was taken by these horrible people. I had been tricked and they kidnapped me. They said that I was a demon, which maybe I might be, but that's not the point so I was pretty much denying their accusations and I was still so much in love with George and really pissed off with Floyd, and they took my necklace from me and they put me in a room with a metal door. The room was full of straw… all piled up around me and they set fire to it and they locked me in that room. I felt my body burn away from me. I felt my eyes burst in my head and my heart boil. My blood sweated out of my pours and I tried to scream but all there was was fire to breathe. It was horrific. It was the most terrible thing they could have done. And I'm telling you that because that's about how I feel now. I feel that my body is on fire and I can feel my blood bubbling under my skin.' Sam paused and wriggled tightly against Spencer. 'And I'm fucking scared. It feels like I'm going to explode into a sheet of flame and turn to ash.'

Spencer wasn't sure what to say. 'Do you want to go back under the water.'

'It hurts.' Sam blubbed onto Spencer's chest. 'Why does this hurt so much? It feels like all my bones are broken and in the wrong place. I can feel them grinding against each other.' A sob… and idea… 'Will you do me a favour before I pass away from this place and die? Will you pleasure me with your mouth?'

It didn't get the result he'd wanted though. Spencer pushed him away. Another damned rejection. This was getting ridiculous. He was meant to be a creature no man could resist and he just kept lucking out. 'I'll run a bath. You need to soak.'

o-o-o

Spencer sat in the dim light of the hallway. His stomach growled with the demands of food. His stomach wasn't aware that there was a man laying on the floor in the lounge who would, if he could, kill him. He was having to keep his distance from Floyd who at least for now didn't seem to be able to move and there was a lad in the bath tub, soaking like a leper… his skin coming off in long dark coils and the tender flesh under it bleeding. It was more as though Sam had suffered burns over most of his body, but for now the cool water was soothing him. He could hear Sam's crying sobs and he could hear Floyd's curses and accusations and there was nothing he could do to help either of them.

He stood, walked to the bedroom and pulled a few things out of the bedside drawer and then dared to step closer to Floyd. He had an idea. He didn't know if it would work, but it was the only thing he could think of.

'I have this.' He held out a cheroot. 'Smoke?' It was snatched from his hands and almost crushed in Floyd's rush to get hold of it. Floyd pulled a green lighter out of his pocket, but Spencer took it from his hands and replaced it with Floyd's silver lighter. 'Do you want some of your powders?' He asked Floyd and held up a small twist of cellophane holding his magic dust.

'No… it'd make my brain gooey.' Floyd replied.

Spencer now held up a small silver knife and he placed it against his wrist. 'Do you want to drink?'

Floyd frowned. This man had been trying to kill him and now was offering up his blood? 'No.' He told him. 'At least not yet.'

Spencer nodded and turned his hand over. 'We need to bond. We need to be a part of each other. I want, I need to do that. I need you to know that I love and need you above anything else. I'd never hurt you on purpose… not really hurt you. You know that. Surely you at least remember that. Can't you remember how I sat at your grave and talked to you? You might have objected to the words but you must have heard my voice. The only thing that stopped me from following you into death was that you had died to save me and I didn't want you to have died for nothing. Please.' He held out the knife to Floyd. 'Mark me as yours. I'm lost without you. Even if you loath and hate me. Even if I revile you and you can't bear to look at me, I need you and I know that you hate that word _sorry_ but I am… I truly am so sorry.'

Floyd flicked the lighter on and off a bit and then stuffed it in his pocket. He took the knife from Spencer and told him to hold out his arm… Was he really so trusting? It seemed so. 'You are such a sop aren't you? You die hard romantic.' Floyd allowed himself to smile.


	25. Chapter 25

25

Floyd held Spencer's arm tight and still as he gouged three things onto the back of his right arm, just above his wrist. The fist thing he cut into Spencer's arm was a line going _across_ the back of his lower arm. And he felt Spencer twitch back from the pain, but it wasn't so deep that it would kill him. Not so deep that he'd bleed out and empty over the floor, but deep enough to scar. It was almost a loving gesture Floyd then offered Spencer by licking and sucking at the wound he'd made. It was purely to clean it though. It had nothing to do with the desire to taste Spencer's blood.

'Keep the fuck still or this is going to look like a mess.' He instructed Spencer.

It was such a grand feeling when Spencer did exactly what he was told. He loved Spencer's willingness to do anything he could to please. Though this attempt at murder had gone awry for Spencer, he was now obviously, at least in Floyd's perception, kowtowing and showing submission. He had finally realised who it was who had dominance here. And that wasn't Spencer.

'Even in death.' Floyd told Spencer who flinched at the words. 'My death, you lackwit. Not yours.' Some things you had to spell out very carefully to Spencer. Though he seemed to have matured and have a wider understanding of things said to him, jokes sometimes failed, sarcasm was sometimes misunderstood and even conversations seemed sometimes to sail over Spencer's head as he attempted to make everything more complex than it needed to be.

The next thing he carved on the back of Spencer's arm was a lemniscate – the symbol for _infinity._ This too was licked and sucked on before he allowed Spencer to see what he'd done.

'Infinity?' He asked in a slow almost drugged voice.

'The word comes from the Latin infinitas or _unboundedness._ But I suspect that you already knew that. It's to show that your love for me is without limitations, boundaries… endless. It is to show that even though you tried to kill me and nearly succeeded that you give yourself to me totally and without complaint. You will not wander or abandon. You will lay your life down for me.'

Spencer ran his fingers over the cuts on his arm. 'This is binding?' Spencer asked slightly puzzled.

'Obviously. You came to me and freely requested that you were bound to me. You without hesitation or even question gave yourself over to me. I sealed the bond with my own mouth. You cannot go back on it now.'

'I didn't say I wanted to.' Spencer bit down on his bottom lip. 'I'm just…' He turned and looked towards the bathroom where Sam was splashing and yelping.

'You want freedom to fuck and be fucked by Sammy-boy? I'll not stand in your way there. He is me. We are one. Give me your arm again. I need to finish this.'

This time it was a small _x_ he carved into the bleeding flesh… 'A kiss?' It seemed ridiculous to Spencer that Floyd would do that, but there it was forever sliced into his skin, almost down to the bone.

And again Floyd cleaned it, and sealed it with his saliva and with his blessing. 'Not a kiss. It means closure. It means that this is done.'

'What about that.' Spencer pointed to the first mark Floyd had made.'

He shook his head and smiled. 'I was just testing how sharp the knife was. Wait though…' Now it was a cut across Floyd's palm that was made. He wrapped that hand around Spencer's bleeding cut arm and wiped their fluids together. 'It's complete. Go and wrap something around it to keep it clean. But don't wash it. Now leave me alone. Just because you came to me whining and moaning doesn't mean that I've forgiven you for this attempt on my precious life.'

There might have been room for a snapping argument. Spencer hadn't tried to kill him. He'd been trying to save him and get back what he'd lost. Maybe selfishly… perhaps, because if Floyd stayed the way Iolanda had left him then the Floyd he loved was obliterated from his life. There was a small chance now that he was back again. This at least seemed to be more like the Floyd he loved.

'I should check up on Sam.' He got to his feet, but then dropped down again to his knees. 'Thank you. I know I put you through a lot of pain and I know I nagged you, but thank you.'

'Wasn't for you. It was for Sam.' Floyd smirked. 'Pass that drink will you?'

o-o-o

Spencer left Floyd leaning against the couch with his mug of strange tasting cocoa in his hands. What the hell Spencer had managed to do to it, he didn't know and didn't much care about asking.

Spencer went to check up on Sam. He stood in the bathroom doorway and looked at the bits of skin stuck to the floor and wall and ceiling and then he looked at Sam sitting in the water pulling at something Spencer was both curious about looking at and horrified at the same time. He closed the door behind him and just stood for a while looking at the bloodstained water and the _thing_ Sam was tugging at.

'Don't look so alarmed. It's just lucky I don't have hair down there… look!' He held up something black and rubbery for Spencer to look at. 'Take it!' And suddenly the skin that had once been layered on Sam's penis was flying towards him. It was an automatic gesture which saw Spencer snatching it out of the air and now the thing in his hand might have been one of the most repulsive things he'd ever seen. It was a like a small, black rubber condom. It fell from Spencer's fingers to the floor and he wanted to go and scrub at this hands to remove the memory of it. 'You could have used that if you'd washed it… oh… not for protection, but for fun… Playing at having a black dick to frighten the girls.'

'Girls.' Spencer mused and stepped towards the tub. 'Speaking of which, Floyd is looking and feeling a lot better. Is there anything I can do to help you?' He moved to the small cupboard on the wall above the basin and wrapped protective bandages around his arm and then returned to Sam.

The horns seemed to have almost gone, but Sam's hair was still long if a bit straggly. His face was definitely looking more like his own. 'If you wouldn't mind drying me, patting me down and putting some of your ointment on?' Sam pushed up and started to get out of the bath and though most of the demonic signs had left Sam for now, he still looked wrong… he actually looked like he'd been attacked by a cheese grater. Spencer did what Sam asked him to do though. He got clean towels and slowly moved around Sam getting as much water off him as possible. He hated the way Sam cried out when Spencer found some extra skin and pulled it away… Spencer wasn't sure how much he enjoyed the close up inspection of Sam's private areas… but he did what he was asked and didn't go further. He then got his large tub of ointment and wiped it carefully over Sam's skin; head to toe. 'You will heal quickly.' Spencer encouraged.

'It just hurts so much.' Tears were produced by Sam. 'I really have had such a miserable time recently. It's just flowed from one bad thing to the next and I need to rest. I need something good for once.' Sam pressed his sticky body against Spencer and groaned. 'My dick feels all hot an needy it's like it's being massaged with sandpaper.'

o-o-o

Emily sat on her couch in her lovely apartment and watched a corny comedy on the television, followed by a romcom movie which the pair of them had chosen. Her doorbell dinged and with a deep regretful sigh Emily got up and walked to her door. There was a spy hole there and Em always used that, but there was just the top of a dark head to be seen and the distortion from the spy glass didn't allow her to see much more than that. Maybe if she'd been warned then she might have guessed or looked harder, but this was as unexpected as winning the lottery when you know you didn't get a ticket. She pulled back the locks on the door, glanced around to make sure that she was alone (safety first) and then pulled the door open.

Em stood with her mouth slightly open.

Floyd planted a hand on Emily's left breast. 'Hey.' He smiled at her.

Just that one word and Emily could smell the rank stink of mouldering bins and dead things on Floyd's breath. She stepped back right into the apartment and slapped his hand out of the way.

'What the hell?' Her hand slipped to her side where she kept her gun when she was armed, but the sidearm was away, secure… useless… it wasn't available to assist her. 'Get your hands off me. Get out of my apartment. Who the hell do you think you are?'

Though his hand had now kindly moved from her front he grabbed her arm and started to pull her down the passageway and into her lovely cream coloured lounge. Not the colour scheme Floyd would have chosen. Getting blood off those rugs would never be fully successful. Emily found that she was dragged, pulled, shoved… pushed into the room. Hands seemed to be touching her everywhere. Too many hands for one man to own, she was sure of that. The animalistic display of dominance Floyd was giving stopped suddenly when Emily's friend Alison, stood up from where she'd been sitting on the couch.

Unbeknownst to Alison and Emily at this particular time, her presence in the room probably saved Emily's life. It certain stopped Floyd from mashing her face into the wall, which was what he had planned.

'Who the fuck are you?' He pushed Emily aside and strode towards Alison.

She was not the sort to be bullied or pushed around by anyone, especially not someone who stank faintly of old vomit and sweat. Alison wasn't the sort of lady who had any love for men, and she would have said that this was easily the most vile, putrid and repugnant man she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Emily thought maybe Floyd had almost made an effort today. He was far less smelly than usual… if you discounted his breath.

'I expect an answer when I ask one.' Floyd snapped at the woman with short brown hair and maybe the start of a moustache.

'I don't follow your orders. I don't follow the word of any man.' She snarled back at him. Emily stood behind Floyd waving a _no_ hand and shaking her head… her eyebrows dancing in a desperate attempt to send her friend morse code and tell her to calm down and just do what the weirdo asked.

'This is Alison. My friend.' Emily spoke firmly. 'I didn't ask you to come in, but I'm asking you to leave.'

'I don't need your invitation. I'm not some sort of monster from a story book who needs to be invited. I go where I damned well please. You should know that by now.'

Alison, not put off by Emily's warning signs stepped angrily and defensively towards Floyd. He hands were in fists and her adrenaline fired up ready to pounce or protect as was necessary.

Floyd moved back from the approaching threat and to the side so that he could see both women at the same time and not have to keep snapping his head from side to side as though he was watching a game of tennis. 'So… Alison… Emily… you're dykes? I really don't want to accept and denial here because if that's how things are then it will explain a lot of things. Your judgement of my sexual prowess for a start.'

Emily stood her ground well. She was not going to be ordered around by a man who should be dead. She was not going to be insulted or abused in her own home. She was a long way from being vulnerable like Spencer.

'Alison is my partner…And I've never judged anything sexual about you.' Emily started.

'You give her tongue? May I watch? Do you have photos? Moving images I can masturbate over?'

Again Alison moved in. 'Who the hell is this Em? And what gives you the damned right to come in Emily's home and use such course language. Who the hell do you think you are?'

'Alison… please, go and make coffee will you. Emily and I have things we need to talk about. I'm not going to hurt her, no need to get so fucking defensive. You're like a mountain lion with her cub. Em is quite able to defend herself against anything I have to say to her. Don't you Em?'

It didn't look as though Alison was going to move though. Her face tightened and her heart was pumping, but Emily placed a hand on her arm. 'It's all right. He's not going to hurt me. He's not as big and strong as he thinks he is, which is why he tries to break people down with his words first.'

'Did you two?...' Alison found that she was being pushed towards the kitchen.

'Me and that monster? No!... never. He is the epitome of what we call _a spiteful little fag.'_

'Hey now! I resent that. I'm not little.' Floyd virtually threw himself down onto the couch and waved a goodbye to Alison who was walking backwards towards where she was going to make some of the best coffee Floyd had ever had. Or at least it would take the taste of the hot chocolate out of his mouth.

'Em.' Floyd grinned. 'I've been ill. You have to forgive my vile manners. It's a sickness which is falling from me quickly, but before it left in its entirety I had to come and question you on why you wont let me screw you. But I have that answer… and I know you question my motives when I make a request like that as I have… hush! Silence bitch… I'm doing the talking and you're doing the listening… I know that I have Spencer and Sam…'

She interrupted again. 'I've never turned you down.' The words hissed from between Emily's lips. They weren't words that she really wanted Alison to hear. 'I've waited and waited for you. Night after night… And you damned well know it. I know that you come to my room when I'm sleeping. I can smell you on my bedding in the morning. I can see evidence that you've been there. I've even found old dog ends in the bathroom. You don't really hide the fact that you've been here.'

'And I will deny that. Why would I show interest in you when I have Spencer and Sam?'

Emily cocked her head to one side and took a deep breath. 'Sam is a child.' She stated. 'Your interest in him is control. You like to have something you have absolute power over. I suspect that Spencer is getting too good at defending himself against your attacks.'

'Spencer cannot now, couldn't in the past and never will be able to defend himself against me. I have far too much to throw at him now. Not just those little jibes and bitchings, but real good evidence that he will do what I tell him when I tell him… I don't need Sam to feel I have power over someone. And what is the joy in having something like Sam doing as he's told when I could pick on something as lovely as Spencer. Sam is an empty vessel and his use is limited to making coffee and letting me have my very wicked way with him. He's just a toy… Spencer is a great wonder. I took him from nothing and created something wondrous. You should be thanking me not accusing me of rape and bestiality.'

'I never did!'

'Oh, well you should have when you had the chance.' Floyd smiled. 'Where's the coffee… does that clit-licker know how to make good coffee?'

'Don't insult my friend with your vile thoughts.' Emily finger brushed her new shorter hairstyle.

'Vile? I thought that was the game girls like you played. Or was it the terminology which you find offensive. I can be called a stinking monster and a rapist… a necrophiliac but I can't call that bitch a…'

'Maybe we should try being polite.' Emily looked up at Alison and smiled. 'Alison, this is Floyd. He's a friend of an old work colleague. He apologises for anything he's said which you might find hurtful or offensive.'

'No I didn't. What I said was, if you can accuse me of things then I can do it right back. It's fine Alison. I'm not after what Emily has between her legs. It's a curiosity and I am capable of ploughing a girl, but it never actually gives me any satisfaction. It's hard to get turned on when you're making yourself want to puke because of what you're doing. I like arse. You like whatever it is you've got… and though I grope at tits… well… not my thing. I'm not going to jump you. What I was here to work out was the reasons I think about you Emily. The reasons I almost lust after a bit of you even though I know you're not a guy… you would make a very good looking man. Have you ever considered a sex change? I think that it would settle all of those confused thoughts you have.'

Emily thanked Alison for the coffee and placed the mugs firmly on the table with no coaster, knowing how much it would annoy the man sitting there slowly stinking up her apartment. 'There were rumours that you were dead.' Emily suddenly said.

'You visited my grave. I'm touched… really. Spencer's spite was un-necessary. I'm not a jew but it was still a nice thought. I thank you. There are too many people who die and their graves are forgotten, yet you and Spencer both… you both showed me that you do indeed have a place in your heart for me.' He picked up his mug and ran fingers over the table where it had been sitting. 'I don't have a problem with you Emily and you have my blessing to lick… to have a… to… well…' He paused and looked between the two women sitting there. Images flying through his head of what they got up to firing so fast that it was going to be hard not to scream rude words at them. 'Nice coffee.' He paused and the three of them sat in silence for a while as Floyd's eyes narrowed and flicked constantly from one woman to the other. Eventually Floyd sipped more of the coffee and asked what he'd been thinking. 'Do you strap something on and do her from behind. I really find this very strange. How can you have anal if you don't have a dick?'

Emily coughed out her coffee into her mug. Alison spat hers across the table. The laughter wasn't what Floyd had expected. It had been a genuine question. Women confused Floyd. Their anatomy, their thought processes; everything about them confused him. Their need to be treated as an equal was something which annoyed him… they wanted equal wages, equal jobs, chances in life… intelligence… they didn't want to be tied to the kitchen… they wanted freedom and equality… and that would seem fair – (except for the intelligence as it was widely known that females didn't have the same percentages in high intelligence as men…. And if that survey hadn't been done yet, then it needed to be.) What riled Floyd was these women would accept all the good stuff, but the moment you rape or beat one of them its _how can you do that to a woman_… well don't wear the pants if you don't want to have your arse investigated.

Now Floyd was getting annoyed. This was so bloody typical of women. Feeble mother fucking whores. 'I should go.' Floyd stood and slammed his mug on the table. 'You need to dry that and get a good wax and clean it properly or your table will be ruined. It upsets me to see something which has been so lovingly created, ruined by the lack of respect. But that's a female thing I think. Your brains are wired wrong. Very wrong in the case of you two. You have though let me see why I felt the way I did about you and I can assure you that I'll never have such _dirty_ dreams about you again.' Floyd gave Emily a small kiss on the cheek and gave Alison a small salute. 'Pictures… always welcome.' Floyd added and then he left the apartment as quickly as he had entered it. Much relieved. He felt like a nasty boil which had been growing on his butt had finally burst.

o-o-o

Spencer was more than alarmed when he went back to check on Floyd only to discover that he'd snuck out of the apartment like a naughty school boy. He had no idea where he'd gone, but thought maybe he was on his way to talk to Rossi again. It seemed like a likely thing for Floyd to do. Though he doubted the reception he'd receive would be a very welcoming one. He didn't tell Sam for a few reasons. One of them was that Sam seemed to be less needy and pushy with sexual advances when Floyd was close by. He also didn't want Sam to panic that Floyd had abandoned him again. He closed them both in the bathroom, turned on the hot water to keep the atmosphere moist and tried to calm down Sam who was fussing about the state of his skin.

'I'll be scarred forever.' He moaned.

Spencer didn't think he would be and talked gently to Sam about how quickly he heals. 'I think you should be in hospital. I'm worried about the loss of fluid through this damaged skin.' Spencer could see moisture coming through Sam's skin in little pin pricks of ooze.

'How can I explain what's happened to me? I can't say that my skin fell off. Ow… don't… that hurts… what are you doing to my arse?'

Spencer stood with a blob of thick white ointment of the end of two of his fingers. 'I… bend over slightly if you can. You don't want to get scabs.'

Sam burst out into more wails of despair. 'This is so unfair! And it's all your fault. Why didn't you run away when I did, but you just stood there like a lemon and had Floyd come and die for you. Why didn't he die for me too! Why is it always you he does cool stuff for? That's nice actually… you can use more than two fingers there… that _is_ two fingers isn't it? At least I can be nice and smooth in the only place Floyd cares about me… and my hair is back again, but not as nice as it was, but better than what Iolanda did to it. My life sucks big time. When are we just going to settle down and be happy? We need to do that. Just find a place and be happy together and no fighting and killing each other.'

'That's what I want too. I don't know if it will ever happen. We've been trying for years and always something gets in the way. Something disrupts the peace. You can stand up now, I want to sort out the back of your neck.'

They were sitting amongst discarded skin, toilet paper and wet towels when Spencer heard the door close and the footsteps in the hallway. He'd snuck out, but he was letting them know that he'd returned. The bathroom door swung open and he stood there looking at the mess.

'Well this is going to take forever to clean up. How's it going?' He stepped in and hunkered down in front of them. 'I'm feeling great now, by the way. Your foolish attempt at murder most un-necessary, failed.'

Spencer smiled at Floyd and leaned forwards over Sam to give him a _welcome home_ kiss on the mouth. 'Where have you been?'

Sam listened. This was the first he knew that Floyd had been anywhere other than next to the mess in the lounge.

'I went to see Emily, but before you start, it was just to get things straight in my head. I've been very confused. It's not a problem though. She's a lesbian, though I feel that if I was straight that I could turn her to my way of thinking. Not that I have a way of thinking any more. It's been ousted by images of where she puts her face.' He brushed his hand down the side of Spencer's face and then patted Sam on the top of the head. 'Is everything OK here? Sam you alright?'

'You know we didn't try to kill you, don't you?' Spencer asked him. This felt like Floyd. This felt like the man he'd been missing for so long. This was the person he'd swear his very soul away to… just ask… it would be done. He rubbed his hand over the place Floyd had cut him and smiled.

'There is this feeling in my mind that had I let you, then you would have. I wasn't thinking right. I shouldn't have left you in that room. I shouldn't have. But it's done now. No point in apologising for it is there? But if you're asking me if I think you would have let me die, then yes, I think you would have. I don't trust you. I desire you though, which is a start I reckon. At least the thought of hammering you is making me feel hard and not sick. So we're getting somewhere.'

Sam wriggled. 'And me?'

'You? You're nothing. You've never been anything and never will be anything. But I thank you for doing what you did. I think I would have let Iolanda win had you not done what you did… so yeah… considering you're just my little cunt-boy, you've done good. Just hurry up and heal because I'll not want you near me all the time you look like that. Disgusting…' A pause… making sure that Sam had time to digest the repulsion on Floyd's face. 'Spencer… I need you. Leave that there… he can clean up the mess he's made, but I need you so damned bad that I think I'm going to explode in my pants. And if that's not love, I don't know what is.'

**And I think that's the end of this segment. Maybe more to come… xox**


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